"Hold on, sweets. I'll go and pay the cash and get your key. Be right back."
The relief was one huge tingling excitement. Audrey Cotswold stood, fingering her metal collar, savouring these last moments of a more mercenary slavery than Assef Aslam had ever imposed. The collar would soon be gone, and so would she! The plush luxury of Aslam's New York empire would enfold and protect her once again. She was more amused than concerned by his order that she be returned to him bound and helpless. They understood each other. These whimsies of his were a part of whatever strange bond it was that held them. She gave herself to them gladly. They were a small price to pay for what he gave her. She had found in this austere and enigmatic man something no other woman had touched. He too had found in his enslavement of this English beauty a feminine response unique and satisfying.
Assef Aslam whipped Audrey Cotswold far more often than an observer might suppose. Few of the grave faces round the Board Room table had an inkling that beneath her exquisitely expensive clothes her skin bore livid weals or that her bottom was ridged by a cane. They knew only that as she handed round the documents she exuded wafts of femininity disturbing to the male. She was widely desired.
Audrey was content with her Master's changing moods. She knew it vital she yield to them. In any of the premises they shared there was a room set aside for her punishments. These rooms were as austere as the man himself. Assef's taste in female pain was simple and easily dispensed. They often laughed over the word 'punishment' that was rarely a punishment at all but was, instead, an erotic caprice of his own sensuality. One of his favourites was to gaze up at her gravely from his chair before the commencement of a meeting and state simply a number: ten, twenty, fifty… She would nod and brightly smile, knowing that when the rest had gone she would be taken to the punishment room and whipped with that number of strokes. He sometimes added to his terse statement of a number the word 'above' or 'below' so that she would know whereabouts on her body he would place his weals. Between that moment and the time when it began Audrey Cotswold would be obliged to hide from view the tingling bundle of erotic sensation she had become. It was that way now. When The man came with the rope she recognized one of Assef's favourite cruelties. Everything was much worse for a girl if she received her inflictions from an underling. It was as though teh Master could not be bothered. A servant could bind or whip the slavegirl and effect a useful saving of time. Or sometimes the Master would watch while it was done. Audrey had hated it al first, but had grown to find in it the same sexual stimulation as in all else. The newcomer grinned broadly and she smiled back.
An advantage of collar and chain is that it leaves the rest of the girl available. With quickened pulse, Audrey stood while here hands were tied behind her back. She wished it was not palm to palm: that meant her elbows too! But she was too happy to care about pain, and braced herself against the tugs and tensions by which her forearms were joined as one and her elbows well laced with rope. She recognized her binder as one of te Auction Market's staff. No doubt he had bound a good many girls with an artistry to catch a buyer's eye. She was excitedly pleased by the care he was taking with her now. When she turned to say so was the moment she got the gag. There was something wrong! Audrey's alarm bells were ringing lustily. The gag was a false note. There was no need of it. She and reid had things to say. If Assef wanted her gagged it could be done just prior to her delivery which was some hours distant. But she was being gagged with the same care as with which she was bound. It was a hateful but well constructed inhibitor of speech. A soft pouch of something filling her mouth, a reinforced velvet band across her lips, clipped tight over her hair at the nape of her neck above her collar. A collar she was evidently still to wear. When its chain clattered to the floor the padlock clicked again to leave her with a metal memento round her neck. She had long since grown accustomed to its weight. It did not matter.
The horses were all wrong too. She was hoisted on to one and her ankles cinched under its belly. Her companion mounted the other. They left the dustiness of Ben Sirah at an easy lope. Before they found the path into the scrub, Audrey Cotswold saw Aslam's plane waiting on the sand. It looked every bit as lonely as she felt.
They rode a steady pace for hours, defeating the miles. Such travellers as they passed viewed the constrained girl with a tolerant eye. She was a delinquent wife or unwilling bride being taken to her just desserts. This was Africa. They smiled and nodded. Audrey understood why she was gagged. They rode for two days and nights on short rations and brief sleep. At the first dusk her gag was taken from her mouth and her elbows freed.
"My name Effayd. You make trouble I cut branch and whip."
It was a helpful introduction. He was amiable: best keep him so. She reverted to the slave. "Where are you taking me, Master?"
"No matter. Is to get you from Ben Sirah. Ben Sirah not good for you now."
"But I thought Mr. Hunter from New York had purchased me?"
"Deal no happen yet. All wrong. You worth much money." He grinned confidingly and ejected a startling colloquialism: "Fucking coppers!" Warningly, he added: "No more questions."
A small light in darkness. Slavery was alternate hope and despair. A wise slave did what she could with both. "Please untie my hands, Master?" She asked politely.
Effayd considered her helplessness gravely. "You wish to shit?"
She was impervious to shock, but wanted to giggle. "I… Well, I'm… I can't do anything."
He untied her hands, joined his sundry ropes, and attached one end to her collar. "You go behind bush. You tug rope, I know you still safe."
"Thank you, Master." She was genuinely grateful.
At dusk, Effayd shrugged apologetically and re-tied her wrists behind her back, laid her down and tied her ankles, prudently tethering them to a tree. "Am sorry. But you must not be free. I know no other way…" Audrey did not know another way either. She went to sleep. At saddling up time very early in the morning, she pleaded. "Please, Master, not the way I was yesterday?"
Again, his grave attention. "Hurt bad?"
"Yes, Master. All you need to do is tie my wrists crossed in front and tie them down to the saddle. I can't do a thing. I can ride, I can use the stirrups. My ankles are all cut, they don't need to be tied under the horse." She gave him her best pathetic look. "And I promise I won't speak when we pass anyone…" As a sweetener, she added: "You can whip me terribly if I don't behave."
Effayd considered, point by point, then nodded. A few minutes later Audrey sat her horse as a rider should. Her crossed wrists were tied where she suggested. It was very practical. As an additional precaution he sternly caught her eye. "I whip to cut your skin!"
"Thank you, Master."
They rode hard and fast all day.
At dusk, after she returned from behind a bush and was still free, her escort enquired blandly: "You would like me to fuck you?" It was a question slavegirls were well attuned to. Audrey knew it well. It was often followed by the casual but pregnant suggestion Effayd now employed. "Of course, if you would prefer to be well whipped…?"
"Thank you, Master. Please fuck me."
In a scale of one to ten, Effayd ranked no more than six. But she had made him happy. He had been kind. He was kind now.
"Is better way to tie for night."
Audrey wanted to please him. Obediently, she stood with her back pressed against a tree's slender trunk. She was always a little breathless at such times. She was breathless now as her arms were drawn back and her wrists crossed and bound. Effayd took much trouble with her wrists. A care and caution she could understand, but counted herself fortunate.
"There! Is nice tie!"
It was certainly simple. She could not leave the tree, her arms embraced it behind her back. From the feel of her wrists she knew they would stay tied. "Thank you, Master. But for the night: must I stand?"
"You silly girl! You sit. You sit now."
Silly indeed! Cautiously, she edged down. But her feet were free and made the change, if not easy, at least possible. With her back resting against the trunk she smiled up into his earnest regard. "Yes, it's good. And I won't be able to get loose."
"Now you stand again."
It took a lot of wriggling and heaving but she managed. Standing as he had tied her, she smiled gratefully. Effayd was satisfied. He nodded, pleased. Then went to seek his rest. After a few minutes of sampling her new captivity Audrey did the same. Wryly, she named her awkward descent to the ground as going downstairs. She slept.
When she woke in early light, Effayd and the horses had departed in the night.
It took Audrey Cotswold a little while to reach fear. Being bound or chained was now her natural lot. It was commonplace. A girl just put up with it. But being abandoned in an African wilderness, attached securely to a tree, was something else again. She called out several times but was mocked by silence. When panic loomed she fought it down. Pushing herself erect, she considered waiting and hoping, or starting now to strive to free her hands. She did not believe she could. To seriously try meant chafed cut skin and pain, and was unlikely to accomplish anything. Audrey was a good judge of bounds. In a scale of one to ten the cords on her wrists would merit top score. She decided to wait in the hope of Effayd's return. When, after a long time, it became evident she was on her own, she fought her fight with her single bond. She fought it with all her strength and in mounting panic. Finally her wounded wrists demanded she desist. In defeat, she knew she had not loosed a single cord. She was as tightly tied as she had been the night before.
In frustration she wept. It was too cruel to be held by so small a length of rope. But she was as helpless as if heavily chained. Around her the African day responded to the sun. There were sounds. Unhappily, she wondered about animals and snakes. They did not invade a camp. But a single naked girl tied to a tree was almost bait for a carnivore…! Her heart contracted. She remembered reading of just exactly that: A delinquent damsel staked out to lure a tiger. She supposed that here it would be a jackal or a lion… she had heard of other animals she could not name.
She considered returning down to sit. Effayd had been considerate in that! But she was frightened. Somehow it felt safer on her feet. She was defenseless either way, but standing she could see the path. If someone passed she could call for help. But that would invite rape or another slavery…! By afternoon she was in despair…
She would stay there, naked, with her hands tied behind the tree until she died.
Why?
Corey Gibson was happy. She was where she had asked to be, chained neck and wrist within a coffle of twenty female slaves. She paced the miles, light footed and alert, her mind busy with plans. At the end of the coffle's journey she would not be sold. Her Master would keep her for his own. It was a miracle! What he would do with her, neither of them knew. Her suggestions had been erotically stimulating for both, but they had about them much of the roseate exuberances of an infatuated teen-ager. Miss Corey Gibson, the daughter of The Planet Corporation, was deeply and romantically in love. But Corey Gibson was female. Rooted within the female is an instinct for a home, a family and friends. For one of the richest and most beautiful girl in the world there were other enticements from which slavery had divorced her utterly, but which now surfaced with surprising allure. She would not dare mention them to Seth Burdett… not now! But there would come an opportunity…! For the present, she adored the shackle on her wrist and the metal collar on her neck. She fingered them often.
She supposed Seth Burdett had seen it in her eyes, or the jaunty toss of her head as she walked. That evening he took her once more into the trees. In their brief walk to seclusion he allowed her freedom. It did not last. Satisfied with a small clearing, he demanded: "Give me your hands." Quivering with the joy of being alone with him, Miss Corey Gibson surrendered to the breathtaking sensuousness of watching the rope prison her wrists. She wanted embraces and declarations but would settle for simple sex. Ingenuously, she declared: "I love you, Master."
He was always unpredictable, her hold on him tenuous, not yet cemented. Tersely, he told her: "Kneel, Face me."
Corey obeyed, her sex heating, adoring his dominance. Her ambitions were still distant. For now, she wanted only to wallow in submission. She was well aware of being slave to the tumescent glands demanding his seed within her womb. But there was more to Seth Burdett than that. To explore that unknown quantity behind his steely eyes would cost her physical pain. But that too was a price she longed to pay. Her demure: "Yes, Master." was almost too perfect. Sitting back on her heels, she allowed her bound hands to rest on her pubic triangle.
"Not that way! I don't want you comfortable. Kneel upright."
It was going to be wonderful! Corey knew it was. Her Master was in a mood. He would certainly hurt her. She braced herself for feminine dissembling. "We didn't talk enough, love. Your eyes are too starry."
"As you whip me they will become as you desire, Master."
"Who said I'd whip you, Corey? You want it, don't you?"
"I want whatever is a part of you."
He sighed. "Look, you silly bitch, you're going through a stage you should have outgrown. You want my whip, you want my cock, you're plotting to make me a possession."
"I'm chained on a coffle, Master, I can't plot anything."
"Come off it! I'll tell you what you're plotting. It's me in a Homburg hat from nine to five, the posh apartment above Central Park, and the place at Cape Cod?"
He was been right in making her kneel this way. Corey felt defenseless and exposed. There was no really good place to put her tied hands, they were as de trop as an adolescent boy's. "I can't help being rich."She said plaintively. "I've asked you to keep me in Africa in chains, isn't that enough?"
"For now." He bestowed his sardonic grin. "But let's put the housekeeping in order. First, I'm my own man. I'll take you as a slave, and I'll keep you as a slave. What's more I'll make my own money…"
"But, Seth, I don't mind…!"
"Hold on! Try that again."
"I'm sorry, Master. I… I forgot."
"See what I mean! For a moment there you thought you were free. That's going to keep happening… Never been broken, have you, Corey?"
"No… I suppose not." The thought thrilled her outrageously. "Are you going to make me crawl, darling?"
"Put those tied hands at the back of your neck, Miss Corey Gibson. And hold still. That 'darling' is going to cost you."
Unrepentant but quivering. Corey obeyed. Her breasts jutted in response. She guessed instantly what he was about to do to her. "I'm not sorry I said that, Master." Deliberately, she arched her back and added an inch or two to the prominence of her nipples.
A lash across the curve of each breast. One only! Corey had retired behind closed eyes and clenched teeth, and accepted this new and dreadful pain with a fortitude she knew would not have lasted if the blows continued to fall. She swayed, her nostrils flared, her sex flamed. She had given and received in a love play designed for a slave. Opening her eyes, she looked down at the scarlet bars enhancing the loveliness ofher most feminine flesh.
"Thank you, Master."
"Humph, you make me feel a bastard, love." He grinned confidingly. "Doesn't change a thing. I'm going to make you scream before I take you back to the coffle."
"My breasts hurt terribly, Master, but I did not scream."
"You will, love. Underneath those palpitating glands you're a sensible girl. You're not a kid. You'll scream rather than be whipped to death."
Corey's heart fluttered. Would he? She did not think he would. But still…! She fell back on mischief: "Will you fuck me first, Master?"
"…And last, you outrageous female! They had a word for you in the States… Sexpot!"
"I'm not really. I used to be considered cold. I was cold. I'm what I am now because of you."
Seth held up a hand. "We're starting to argue. Keep quiet while I tell you about the housekeeping money… and don't think those pretty tits can't get another stripe or two."
"I'll behave, Master. I'm honestly not a bit keen on getting my breasts whipped, even by you."
Burdett draped his whip prominently across one knee.
"First off, you'd better understand about the slave trade. When someone pays a million dollars for you up there on the auction block I'm lucky to end up with ten percent. There's the Auction boys to pay, there's a couple of political factions, there's the lousy police, and there's some damn heavy bribery to find the girls, get them kidnapped and delivered to where the coffle starts it's trek." He grinned, admiring her taut loveliness in its tiring kneel. "The Trek doesn't cost, and it gets us out of sight. Its best function is to tell the girls what they are. I've seen many a randy little bitch start out fighting her chains all the way but end up smooth as silk. Nice thing about the coffle is the girls have to pay attention to each other. If one of them acts up so the girls on either side get chafed skin they damn soon lean on her hard. A coffle's the best leveller I know."
"Can I sit back now, Master?"
"No, you can't! Erect and attentive's the drill."
"Well, can I lower my hands from behind my neck, please?"
"No. Stay as you are. Your breasts are nicely positioned for a couple more stripes… you're hovering on the edge of getting them."
"Master… about the Auctions? All that money for Audrey and I…? I thought you'd be rich?"
"Hah, so did I! You three white girls stolen out of Amphala were the first real bonanza Mustafa and I ever ran into. White girls are hard to come by without an organization behind you. We'd mostly had to deal in coffee colours. If it hadn't been for those bastards, Abdul and Mustafa, I'd have made enough out of you to turn respectable." Seth grimaced in disgust. "If I sold you again now I could make enough to feel I was talking to you on half way equal terms… that is, if you were around… which you wouldn't be. So now I've promised not to sell you, and that leaves me about where I've been for a long time." He bestowed a rueful grin. "How'd it be if I sold you anyway and kidnapped you back afterwards?"
"Darling, collect ransom on me. Daddy will gladly give you a couple of millions and then we can get married…"
Corey's breasts cringed under the two cuts, one across each. She whimpered under the searing impacts, fighting hard not to move, protruding her second feminine curvature defiantly while still screaming inwardly with the agony of the first. But her emotions were overcharged. With a cry of anguish, she slumped back on her heels, her bound hands flashed up and over her head to awkwardly and pathetically caress her wounds. Piteously, she wept.
"I was only… t-t-trying… to h-h-help." She sobbed.
"I am a slaver, not an extortionist."
"I'm… I'm sorry… I… I keep making the mistake." "And my wife doesn't by me! I'm not at all sure I want a wife. I told you I'd take you as a slave, and I still will. If that's not good enough, just say so. I'll sell you instead."
"It's good enough!" Corey couldn't get the words out faster.
Seth Burdett eyed the disorganized bundle of feminity with affectionate amusement. "This is where the script says I take you in my arms and offer you my shirt and pants if you'll stop crying…" He gave a contemptuous grunt. "Piss on that! Here's the proper way."
Once more, Miss Corey Gibson knew herself betrayed by her own libido. One should have dissolved in grief to either disgust this man or earn his pity as he dragged her to the tree. Instead, her tears ceased and her loins flared in a sudden intense desire for the cleansing scourge of his lash. As her bound hands were tied to the trunk above her head, she muttered savagely: "Alright, whip me! Whip me into an orgasm. Whip me into a hundred orgasms… damn you, Master!"
Seth whipped her joyously, aware of each of her tremors, the flexing of her muscles, the growing heat within. Amused, he noted her bound wrists and their agony as she tugged and heaved, turned and twisted. But, as a boy controls the whipping of a top, so he carefully kept Corey facing the trunk, the whip across a twisting hip or exposed flank kept her back and bottom properly available. When, in her beginnings of orgasm, her legs parted and one raised invitingly, he swept the thong in a snapping uppercut into her crotch so that her climax flowered in a ullation of delicious agony. Her wailing cry was neither of triumph or defeat. It was the tribute of a slave whose Master knew her all too well.
"Don't stop! Whip me! Whip me…!"
"What are you?"
"A slave! You idiot, I know I'm a slave, a slave, a slave…! I'm never going to be anything else but a slave, so I may as well get used to it. Whip me… you complacent bastard. Whip me good."
Corey thrust her breasts hard against the tree while her Mster spaced his strokes across her back. Probably he would half kill her for the epithets she had hurled at him. Her tear-stained cheek joined her breasts in seeking the comfort of the bark. Inspired, she added to her declaration: "I want to be… Oh, can't you understand! I want to be your slave, I want to be… I want…"
The whip acknowledged her surrender. It did not stop. When she began to scream she terminated each cry of pain with a curt demand: "Whip me, damn you, Master, whip me…!"Then screamed again.
When he dragged her back to the coffle he locked only her neck, leaving her hands tied as they had been. Corey did not know whether he had forgotten or had a purpose, but she hurt too much and was too tired to try and bite at his knots. Besides, what did it matter! Even freed entirely of all restraints she would still be a slave. She would always be a slave. Her mind would no longer search beyond that knowlegde. Unconcerned and undismayed she went to sleep.
When Corey was freed the next morning for the chores, another girl was unlocked to take her place. Quietly smiling, her Master stood her upright before nineteen curious girls, tied her ankles tight, then took her crossed wrists to the nape of her neck and tied them to her collar. His instruction was terse. "Stand there and keep still."
Miss Corey Gibson stood there, a public spectacle, fuming.
The girls were delighted.
When Corey's neck and right wrist were once more shackled to the coffle and the march resumed she was teased unmercifully. She did not mind. She detected in the comments a hint of envy. She wore her fresh weals, particularly the scarlet stripes across her breasts, with immense elan. She wondered at herself and at the man who owned them all. Could she say she was broken, that the coffle and the whip had made her subservient? Or was it her own shameless lust that made his whip a benison upon her flesh? She was wanton, reveling in the memory of being tied to the tree and then, afterwards, ravished again and again in a series of couplings in which she used her bound hands and thrusting body in taunting provocations to replenish her Master's virility. In loving abandon she regaled the man who had whipped her with every trick and variation of the practiced whore. In so doing she defeated not him but herself by erasing from her mind all thought of liberty. Seth Burdett remained his own man, but Corey Gibson was most certainly a woman!
It happened on the day before they should have reached Ben Sirah. The uniformed men rose from concealment, three to each side of the coffle of girls. Rifles pointed.
"Is nice we meet again." Corporal Eliah was one big grin.
"What the hell do you want, Eliah?" Seth demanded without concern for pointing muzzles. "You'll get your cut…!"
The corporal raised a placating hand. "Mr. Burdett… please!" He managed to sound reprovingly shocked. "We do not steal. We arrest."
"Try and arrest me and I'll break all your bloody necks!"
"Is not you, Mr. Burdett. Please, no! Is bad young lady escape from custody. You are most respected, sir. No doubt she tell a story of bull and cock for getting your sympathy. I am seeing her now. She is there on coffle with slavegirls."
"You talking about Audrey Cotswold?"
"Indeed yes. Most guilty young lady."
Corey cringed in the impotence of chains. The shackle and collar removed her from the affairs of men. She could do nothing.
"Damnit, Aliah, don't mess up a good deal. You know the drill. She'll be sold inside a week." Burdett was puzzled.
"Alas, this is not business, effendi. It is the Law."
"Fuck the Law!"
"We must take young Lady. I have warrant." The corporal unfolded a well decorated document. He read with relish: "Conspiracy to defraud. Escape from custody. Naked in public place. Immorality. Prostitution. Perjury…"
"Stow it, Eliah. It's all horseshit, and we both know it. But you take that girl… I'll make trouble!"
"Court have no quarrel with honest Slave Trader, Mr. Burdett. We arrest girls… such bad and naughty girls! You carry on with coffle, Mr. Burdett, sir."
"What d'you mean, girls? There's only one of her?"
"Regrettably, is two." Corporal Eliah pointed at Corey Gibson. "She whore from Amphala. Also suspicion of fraud. Must be tried and sentenced to much prison."
"Up your arse!" Burdett was nonplussed.
"Whit possible whippings." The corporal added pompously. "Our esteemed magistrate Mussuba not approve bad girls."
"You take Corey Gibson and I'll have all your hides."
"Please, most honourable sir, do not make distress. We now arrest. When you arrive Ben Sirah you most welcome to visit their cell in police station. Can arrange nice fuck if you so like…? We very modern."
"Police station! Though you said prison?"
"Must have proper trial. Then sentenced to punishings. They stay police station a few days so we all get good fucks." The corporal beamed importantly. "Is police perquisite, to fuck."
"Yeah, and more than girls. Look, Eliah, how about I arrange bail?" "For such crimes is no bail. But you come visit. Police think Mr. Burdett is fine sir."
"Damnit, corporal, there has to be a way…! How about you taking four of the other girls? You cab screw 'em for a week and then sell 'em. Two for one's a good deal?"
"But is not white girl." The corporal shrugged. "Can arrest local girls anytime. We fuck a little then let go."
With grim ste lips, Seth Burdett unlocked the two white girls from the coffle. Their shackles hung slack and empty and forlorn. "You heard the silly twit. He's got six guns. When I get the coffle into Ben Sirah I'll raise bloody hell. I've got friends. If that's not good enough I'll wire New York for you."
"You could have done that in the first place." Audrey said tartly. "Shit, I wanted to sell you first, girl! I need the money." Corey Gibson was shattered, bereft, and furiously angry. "You mean this… this fuzzy wuzzy can actually…?"
Seth patted his gun. "I might get two of them before they got me. Then you're friendless. But with me alive you're going to come through this… some way… I guarantee!"
She believed him. There was that in his voice which evoked her fire. With a greater faith than Audrey's, she surrendered her nakedness to the familiar turning of her back and the limp proffering of her wrists, on which the corporal's handcuffs clicked with a sound of minor doom. Reluctantly, Audrey did the same.
"Is jeep behind bush." Pronounced the corporal importantly.
The man and his slave said a farewell with their eyes. Audrey stalked ahead disdainfully, furous at an unkind Fate, her wrists tugging irritably at the shaming metal bands. Corey followed, the corporal's hand, not unkindly, on her arm. "Is very nice cell." He explained encouragingly.
"Is bars all round so everyone can see. You feel nice at home."
Corey supposed he meant well. She tried not to cry.
The jeep was actually there. The two girls were lifted into the back. More handcuffs were produced. The armed detachment beamed approval. "We're already handcuffed. We don't need any more." Audrey's protest was bitter. She knew where she was going.
"Is best we join you. That way is hard to run." The corporal was anxious for good intentions to be understood.
The girls were side by side. It was neat and tidy to clip a cuff above Audrey's right elbow, with the matching steel circlet notched on Corey's left. Where one went the other must go too. Another pair of handcuffs similary joined two ankles. "Why not our necks too?" Audrey demanded belligerently.
"Alas, we have no chain." Corporal Eliah was genuinely apologetic. "But at police station we can arrange."
Submerged beneath a load of policemen, rifles and naked girls in chains, the jeep fought its way to the path. It was not a pleasant journey. Four pairs of handcuffs mocke the female prisoners all the way to Ben Sirah.
"The son-of-a-bitch! He's actually managed…!" Audrey stared incredulously at the four foot chain linking their necks. Her fingers were busily exploring the band of metal which was her new collar. "There's more to that damn corporal than meets the eye."
Corey was a welter of sensation. Audrey had been here before, but she had not. The cage-like cell in which they were safely locked was daunting. So were these eyes… It seemed there were always eyes peering at them through the bars. "The bastard sells tickets so the wogs can look at our cunts." Audrey Cotswold averred disgustedly.
They had lost the battle of nakedness. The corporal's apology had, as usual, been most sincere. "Is prescribed tunic for female prisoners." He explained. "But is now all at laundry. You not mind nice policemen look at cunts and boobs?"
Corey was testing her own metal. Her collar was heavier than any she had previously been forced to wear. "Is prison issue." The corporal had informed wirt pride. "Is specially made for very bad girls."
"But I was only being sarcastic." Audrey protested. "We don't need a beastly chain on our necks. We can't get out of this damn cage."
"Then must have chain on hands and feet. You like this better."
She subsided, breasts heaving in fury. He held all the cards, they held none. There would always be a refutation.
"Or can tie hands behind backs if you prefer?" The offer was the soul of kindness.
They accepted linked necks.
"Reid Hunter will find us." Audrey vowed in conviction.
"Cheer up, darling."
"He won't find us if we get stuck in some rotten prison first. Audrey, dear, I'm scared. There's something final about everything they do to us. We could wear this collar and chain the rest of our lives."
They did not wear it to Court. It was taken from them. But their hands were bound at their backs and their elbows roped hard and tight to expose their breats. Standing in the dock, their nipples pointed at magistrate Mussuba like accusing fingers. Disgustedly, they heard the corporal read their list of crimes. Corey resigned herself to life imprisonment. Everybody except they themselves said a few words. Then the Magistrate. Corporal Eliah interpreted.
"Is this time no fine. This time no escapings. Judge is much sorrowful for such bad girls. He sentence you each to fifteen years in most strict prison for naughty ladies. He direct you must be put in most heavy irons because you wanting to escape. In prison is full discipline for both…"
"What's that mean?"
"The strap, the whip. Much restrains. Sometimes dark cell." The corporal diluted shock with consolation. "Could be worse. is only fifteen years. Could have been for life. Many girls go to prison for life."
It was too shattering, too medieval to immediately comprehend. In shock, they asked: "When does it start, corporal?"
"Magistrate very kind. He allow police to keep you a few days for fucking. I expect you glad?"
It seemed unkind to complain. Two female felons went with their jailor, not back to their cage but to a blacksmith.
"I can't believe this either." Audrey was sitting on a box. Her feet were raised upon an anvil. Around each ankle had been fitted a heavy iron band. Rivets had been inserted in holes. The blacksmith was raising his hammer… Corey stared in equal disbelief. The arms of both girls remained bound, as in Court. She stood, awaiting her turn, and watched the incredible take place. The centuries had rolled back five hundred years. Between the heavy anklets being riveted upon her fellow prisoner was a length of equally heavy chain, its links massive. It was longer than need be. It would not deter a girl in the servicing of men, but it would most certainly inhibit escape. With that weight of metal attached immovably upon her ankles each step would compel her to drag…! In fascination, Corey watched the hammer splat the soft metal down to form a rounded head. Two rivets to each shackle! Such irons would hold a giant. On a girl they were purely punitive. And for fifteen years…!
The four rivets having been hammered to become a part of the anklet itself, Audrey was helped to stand by the kindly aid of corporal Eliah. She was cruelly captive. Wrists and elbows tight bound, her feet ironed. Like a girl testing new shoes, she peered down at her own feet as she assayed a step. There was a visible pause, then with an equally visible effort, the hobbled foot advanced with its load of links following as a dead weight upon a foot that had lost its freedom for fifteen years.
"You see, you walk with muh care." The corporal was delighted. With shrinking heart and a sense of something lost forever, Corey Gibson took her turn upon the box. When she lifted her feet to the anvil and saw the fitting of the iron bands upon her ankles she remembered the old cliches: 'Walking in the last mile', the 'Point of no return', the 'Moutning of the Scaffold steps'. She wanted to weep in memory of lost liberty. In comparison with this horror Seth's coffle was a privilege much to be desired.
"With rivets, they cannot be unlocked. There is no key." The corporal explained pridefully.. "No one can be helping naughty girls."
The hammer impacted, the metal spread. Corey saw imprisonment become real and actual before her eyes. In but a few minutes she stood beside Audrey Cotswold, the weight on her ankles horrific and frightening, exchanging wide eyed dismay at an imposition far worse than they had supposed. She lifted a foot, suddenly leaden, and dragged…