Golden Wrists

6 The Flaming Flesh

I actually ate breakfast. Everything was so different from being chained in the hut on Plessious. Hugo and I had made love repeatedly through half the night, then slept late and found other things to talk about over coffee, quite apart from the pain I was about to suffer. Since it was understood between us that I was Hugo’s slave for the day, I listened respectfully to his male superiority. Today I was a nothing and had better damned well like it.

“I want you to address me as “Master,” Hugo said first off. “That establishes our relationship and tells us both where we’re at. What you say we alternate the days. Right now you belong to me but tomorrow you’ll be a lawyer and as free as the air. Okay?”

“Okay by me ... Master.”

“I really mean that, Diane, about whipping you should you fail to make any progress on my case. I don’t think you were really trying up to now.”

“Very well, Master. I expect you’re right. I won’t complain about being whipped or caned should I fail to produce results.” I found it hard to believe what I was saying.

“What I have here is a small conceit all my own,” Hugo said proudly. He produced an expensive looking box. “Only the judge uses them in the good old USA, but if we were in England or Canada you’d have to wear them every time you entered the court room. You’re free and naked and I want you to put this on.”

It was a Barristers Gown in the best tradition. I could tell it was expensive. When I clasped it at my neck, it enveloped my nakedness like a tent. Hugo, walking around and around to get the effect, seemed pleased. I consoled myself with the thought that at least I was covered up.

It’s amazing how many houses have a downstairs. Hugo’s downstairs provided a room expressly designed for the unhappiness of girls. It took him only a very little time to have me fastened in the manner in which he had found me on Plessious, my wrists tied high and far apart. He walked around a few more times before producing a safety pin and raising the back hem of the gown I wore to uncover my bottom but stop short at my waist. The safety pin to secure the gown so raised. I saw his point. Here was a contrast I could not fail to feel!

“Nice idea, don’t you think?” he inquired. “Yes. Master. It’s making me shiver.”

“I was wondering whether to bother with the cane, it’s a juvenile sort of instrument. This crop is the whippiest thing I’ve ever seen. Have you a preference?”

“The cane, please. Master.”

“Okay, if that’s what you want. I’m not sure you’re making a good choice but you’ll have plenty of opportunities to form an opinion. I thought twenty strokes would be about right for this first day?”

“It seems a lot. Master.”

“I suppose it is. But, Diane dear, you do have to realize this is the beginning of a new association. The only reason I’m caning you is to get you into a proper frame of mind to reinforce your vows made when you wanted me to cut you down. Get the idea?”

I got the idea, all right, but I’d be damned if I had an answer to it.

I could even see a certain logic in what he proposed. But when I thought of it, I had little doubt that when my bottom had been caned twenty times. I’d see our new relationship in the way Hugo wished. I was about to be conditioned.

“I have you very prettily fixed up, Diane, and I want to leave you a little while to sort of let things sink in. Get what I mean?”

“Yes, I get what you mean. But, Hugo, I wish you’d whip me and get it over with. This standing and waiting is the very devil. And I won’t pretend I’m all that brave. Please...?”

But Hugo was gone. My master had things beautifully figured.

He had me exactly as he wished and I had to wonder what the court system of New York would say about a female member of their association submitting to such a strength of purpose. More importantly. I was wondering about how loud I’d scream. Or if I would scream at all!

I’m sure nature designed the place on which females sit as the place on which their master’s cane or crop should cut its wicked strokes. I had pleaded that twenty was far too many and more than I could bear, but Hugo was deaf to this feminine plea. I tried to cry but the tears would not come, something which goes to prove the female can be betrayed by her own body. As Hugo sliced at me with his cane, I knew for certain I should have stayed on Plessious.

When the cane cut at me the second time, I’m sure I made a diverting picture for my master. I tugged and squirmed and even kicked as though to rid my flesh of pain as if by simple motion. But I did not scream, and for that I was proud. The damned cane was worse than I’d expected, but it was being wielded by a male arm and impacted my soft flesh with male authority. I wondered if Naomi would hurt me half as much!

“Am I getting to you, sweetheart?” Hugo inquired pleasantly. “You’re killing me, if that’s what you mean. Oh. Hugo, please stop!”

“Give me a good reason?”

Number three sent me into a frenzied dance. I was desperate.

“You don’t have to do this at all,” I quickly spit out. “And you’re only doing this because you once promised it and now you feel you have to follow through.” I no longer cared what I said. Dancing around as the cane beat steadily, I could only plead, “Oh, Hugo, please stop, please stop! Would you settle for ten?”

“We’re nearly there now, sweetheart, and you’re in great shape. Here’s an extra hard one just to keep you interested.”

It was a truly awful stroke and lit my bottom into flaming agony.

But it did point out that I was not being caned nearly as hard as possible. In response to the extra hard one, I actually lifted my feet off the floor and kicked wildly at the agony. We had now reached number ten and I heard myself pleading earnestly, “Not twenty, Hugo, oh please not twenty! I can’t stand that.”

I got the twenty. But, in spite of the number, I knew that Hugo had been merciful. That one awful slash that had crossed my flesh told me all too well that the other nineteen had been no worse than I could bear. As I sobbed and panted in the aftermath. I drew some comfort from this thought, a comfort soon denied when I realized that what had been done to me now could be repeated every second day. Abjectly, I said, “Thank you for caning my bottom, Hugo. I’m sorry to be such a nuisance.” Gosh! How humble could I get!

In the approved manner, the master left me alone with my pain. I wasn’t sorry to see him go because I wasn’t in any mood for conversation. All I wanted was to wait for the burn and scorch of my beating to go away. In the course of my beginning to feel better, I now became aware I was still wearing the ridiculous legal gown and it was still pinned up on back to expose my burning bottom. I felt untidy along with hurt. I hung there, looking and feeling like a scarecrow, and disgusted with myself. The only comfort I could think of was that, had I stayed on Naomi’s island, I’d be in pretty much the same fix. But here with Hugo Markham I’d be a free girl tomorrow.

Hugo showed up to see how I was doing, and I was hating the gown more than the burn. I though I would get my hands back now but Hugo had been doing some thinking and didn’t reach for my bonds.

“I suppose you’ve been thinking about yesterday and tomorrow,” he said. “I’d be crazy if I didn’t realize you can easily walk out on me, and renege on our agreement. I don’t think you will, but are you tempted?”

“Of course, I’m tempted. But I’ll live up to my promise. Don’t worry, Hugo, you’ve got yourself a slave.”

Hugo held me tight and we kissed. And he did what I longed to do myself, ran exploring fingers across my weald and beaten bottom to make me gasp. “Sensitive, heh? I have to be honest, Diane, and admit I loved every stroke I gave you with that cane, It’s too bad you couldn’t see yourself, you put up a magnificent performance. ”

“Thanks a million.” After a second, I added. “Hugo, be a dear and take this gown off. It makes me feel horribly unattractive.”

He actually did as I asked to leave me standing nude and very helpless with my arms above my head. He then did his customary inventory of my interesting parts, his voice still thoughtful. “I expect you’d like me to untie your wrists and let your arms down. You must be sick of standing like that.”

“I sure would!”

“Trouble is, I don’t know what to do with you then. There’s something nice and positive about whipping your bottom but I never was into this sort of thing, and I don’t have much knowledge of small tortures. Could you give me a pointer or two?”

Hugo was not teasing, he was deadly serious about his lack of expertise in a field no university covers with a course I shifted unhappily against my ropes while exclaiming, “Hugo, don’t be silly, no girl is going to ask for pain for discomfort. Or any of those awful things you read about in history books. What I want right now is for you to hold me close and make me feel warm and wanted.”

“But I just did that.”

“I mean with my hands down, not tied up in the air the way they are.”

“Think you could hold out until lunch, sweetheart? I know an interesting little place.”

My heart leapt joyfully. It might still be a long way until lunch time but I’d willingly endure if a nice lunch in a nice restaurant was at the end of it. I wondered what the hidden kicker had to be... “You really mean you won’t make me wear handcuffs or a collar around my neck?” I asked cautiously.

“You see, you’ve come up with some excellent suggestions. But I wasn’t thinking of things like that. Watching you sit on your sore seat was about all I had in mind Would your conscious be happier if I put some sort of bondage around your body under the clothes?”

“No, thanks! Dh, Hugo, you’ve made me so happy!”

“Good gosh, with just lunch!”

“Well, it hasn’t exactly been a fun day so far and I have to feel grateful for the break. How much longer do I have to stand?”

“Just an hour or two, honey. Look, I’ll go and do some phoning while you stand here and meditate. By the way, I should tell you what a magnificent body you’ve got. And how grateful I am to get a good look at it. Be seeing you.” I felt absurdly happy. Goodness knows I was naked and tied up the way I was and shouldn’t have much to be happy about. But there it was! Hugo would have been well within his rights to make me uncomfortable right on through the day but he wasn’t doing this, and from this fact I drew fresh hope. In spite of a burning bottom and the shame of my condition, I kept my thoughts busy with the Estate, Hugo’s claim, and a few other related mundane affairs. I even stopped trying to free my hands.

When I was dressed and ready to go, Hugo insisted on the bracelet for my left wrist. I held out my hand and watched the two steel cuffs made snug upon my skin. I had become almost fond of the shinning steel, which reminded me of Elizabeth and which had been my companion for so long.

Hugo had allowed me to back up to the big mirror to admire my wounds. What I beheld in the glass made me nervous at the prospect of sitting down, but I knew this was to be Hugo’s reward for lunch and whatever period of rest he might be willing to grant from my day of slavery. I refused to allow the scarlet and purple lines to dampen the lovely, warm feeling of being taken to lunch by a handsome male.

Hugo watched intently as the waiter pushed my chair against the back of my knees. I clenched my teeth as I sat and hoped only Hugo saw the pain on my face. It was my first sit down since being caned and cropped, and for several moments I was breathless and wondering if it got better or worse than that. My scolded rump was a presence not easy to ignore.

“Not too bad?” Hugo inquired.

“Terrible!”

“Good. I expect that’s the way it should be. I’m having the Dover sole today. How about you?”

“How about a painkiller for my bottom instead of fish?”

We both got a laugh and Hugo shook his head as if puzzled.

“Damned remarkable situation we’ve got ourselves into.” He mused a few seconds. “I enjoyed this morning but I’m damned if I know what to do with you this afternoon. There’s a post in one room downstairs I could tie you to. Would that about look after things?” Hugo’s naivete was genuine. He would have been lost in Rockley, although no doubt intrigued by so many breasts and pretty bottoms. I could make a shrewd guess that he and I were where we now stood, simply out of his frustration with my failure to promote his Cause, plus a genuinely erotic curiosity about everything he’d learned on Plessious. If only I could handle him gently...!

Trying to sound truly interested, I asked. “That post will look after me fine for this afternoon, but any suggestions as to how I get tied to it?”

Hugo sighed admiringly. “You do enter into the true spirit of things, don’t you. Hell, I can keep you safe all afternoon by handcuffing your wrists in back of the pole. You wouldn’t go anywhere.”

I shrugged and twinkled. “If that pleases you, Master.”

“It pleases me, but don’t overdo the ‘Master’ bit. Let me get used to it gradually. I’m thinking of you and the pole. I like it.”

I liked it, too. At least if he had to do something to me, it was about as good as I could expect. I wondered if after he had fixed me and gone away, I could slip down and sit on the floor with my back against the post with not much discomfort, at least not much more than I suffered now. And perhaps because of it. I voiced something I knew I’d have to tell Hugo sooner or later. “Have you realized, Hugo, how it’s going to tear me apart to be an attorney at law one day and a whipped slavegirl the next? I’m handling this okay but there’s tomorrow and tomorrow. And I don’t think I can handle that. Want to talk about it?”

“You’re trying to fox me into saying you don’t have to bother any more?”

“Anything I say had the savor of that,” I replied, realizing I’d hit upon a profitable vein. “Can’t help that, it’s not intentional. I’m still prepared to live up to my word and yield myself to you every second day. But please thing of the emotional upheaval I have to cope with. I hurt where I sit, you’ve got this on me,” I held up my left wrist, loaded with handcuff. “Tomorrow in the office I’m not going to be normally adjusted to the work I have to do. Hugo, I really am trying to get some substance behind your claim. But right now I don’t care about your claim or my office. I can’t think of much at all besides being your prisoner. See what I mean?”

Poor Hugo! Hugo was not a complicated man, and long ago at the start of our association had been scared of me. Back in those days I’d been something of a bitch, but a lot had happened since then, and he and I were now on a quite different footing.

“Sure I can see your point,” Hugo said in a friendly manner. “But aren’t you forgetting this imprisonment of yours lasts only until my claim is recognized. It won’t be forever. How long will it take?”

“I’ll get out the statement of claim tomorrow and get it on the court docket, but actual appearance in court may be weeks away. If you whip me every day. I won’t have any skin left.”

Across the table, Hugo gave me a wry little smile. “So, okay, everything you’ve said is duly noted and I won’t expect a miracle overnight. But I’m going to whip you enough to keep you on the ball. Lawyers live by procrastination and I’ve had a belly full. I’m not idiot enough to whip you every second day but I’ll think of some other things. Let’s talk about something else.”

I loved this restaurant, with its atmosphere and sense of wealth. I adored being waited on and treated as Hugo’s girl friend or wife. For a few moments I toyed with thoughts of being Mrs. Hugo Markham, but that was too absurd so I switched speculations to the coming afternoon. I didn’t have long to wait.

The pole, post, or torture, according to one’s point of view, was, in a large storage room littered with the things a storage room would like. The pole was of metal and I suppose was about four inches in diameter and painted the same dull green as the walls. It was not an inspiring room or post. But the pole and I had a date and I could swear it had been waiting for me personally. To others it would appear an innocent vertical support, but for me it was like an introduction to a sinister stranger boding me no good. Innocently I inquired, “You won’t want me to undress for this, will you, Hugo?”

“Diane, you know perfectly well you remove your clothes. Get with it.”

“You want me naked just to stand against a pole...? Really!”

“I want you stark naked, sweetheart, and I want you to stop quibbling.”

I sighed but took off my clothes and kicked my shoes along with them. Without being asked. I backed against the pole.

The scenario had already been discussed. Hugo unlocked the handcuffs from my wrist and I put my arms back around the pole and wiggled my hands invitingly to demonstrate good intentions. Warm steel bit and tightened. Hugo played around to get the proper tension. He then came around to admire my breasts and pubic patch, a small pause in anything we did, My female attributes seemed to have an unending fascination to this man. Hugo kissed my forehead and went away, not bothering to close the door. Why the hell should he!

Right away I discovered something wrong. During the ordinary exploration of new bondage I discovered that while my hands were secured in the manner we discussed, they were also subject to an additional restriction. I could neither raise nor lower them more than an inch or so. Frantically I called after my retreating master and, luckily, caught him in time. I heaved a sigh of relief. I went straight to the point. “Hugo, this isn’t the way we said it would be. I’m handcuffed but I can’t move my hands, you’ve got them fixed somehow. Would you mind?”

“Would I mind what?” Hugo pretended to be obtuse. “Unfixing whatever it is you’ve fixed up. This is going to be miserable for a whole afternoon.”

“Isn’t that the idea, sweetheart?” Hugo laughed knowingly. “You were figuring on sitting down after I’m gone, weren’t you? A quite comfortable afternoon. Sorry!”

It was exasperating and I wanted to keep to my promise not to plead or beg or demean myself in Hugo’s eyes by complaining about every punishment when I know perfectly well I was suppose to be punished. Punishment was the name of the game. Stiffly, I retorted, “Sorry to have bothered you. I simply hoped you were being merciful, but never mind. I’ll stand here all afternoon and think about the nice time we had at lunch. Goodbye, Hugo.”

It was the right approach. Hugo muttered something under his breath but I felt his hands on the pole. This time, when he hurried away, I was neither kissed. I discovered immediately I could raise and lower my hands and thus could slid my arms down until my punished bottom could reach the floor. But with feminine inconsistency, I simply stood and played with the handcuffs I could not see. It was almost an hour before I gingerly lowered myself to the floor, leaned back against the pole, and stretched out my legs in an effort to get comfortable. It wasn’t all that good.

I guess if my bottom had not been so severely whipped I would have come out all right. But the concrete floor did nothing to soothe my burning skin. It was not long before I was feeling sorry for myself. And if I’d been a naughty girl in the first place, I would have been vowing never to be naughty again. But this was pure fantasy, and the simple fact was the concrete chaffed my caned bottom so I struggled back to stand erect, a more difficult task than I that though. Then I stood there wondering if Hugo was laughing up his sleeve at the female who was so totally his on every second day. I hate to admit it but having to stand there all afternoon, I actually generated a few tears I was thankful no one could see.

Handcuffs are an insidious compulsion. Because they don’t hurt you feel quite sure you can deal with them and probably slip them off your wrists. I suppose it’s this ridiculous notion that drives a girl to twisting and tugging against the steel. Anyway, that’s what I did, and when Hugo returned at early evening he found me with chaffed wrists and an almost indecent anxiety to please. Boy, did he possess me but good!

“You look a little sad, Diane?”

“Yes, Master, that’s the way I feel.”

“We might then say the pole was potent?”

“Yes. Master. Please get me away from it.”

“But you make such a pretty picture there. Diane. If I could paint in oils, I could make a masterpiece out of that beautiful pose of dejection. But I do have a camera. Would you like me to take a snap?”

“No thank you, Master. I don’t want to see what I look like. All I want to do is walk away.”

“Boy, sweetheart, you must have had a bad afternoon!” Hugo’s tone was pure admiration. “Are you telling me you’d be happy to walk away from that pole with your hands still behind your back?”

“Yes, Master. I’d be very happy.”

Hugo sighed, prolonging the agony. If ever a man was in the catbird seat, it was Hugo right now. Hugo had me for sure! As though to clinch my claim. I said. “I’ve even been crying - in case you’re, interested, ”

Hugo was drinking in every word as though it was the sweetest nectar a man could ever sip. “Aren’t you overdoing this a bit, sweetheart? I admit I like it but enough is enough.”

“I’m only telling it as it is. You’ve got me and you can do what you like with me. You’re my Master. I can’t even walk away from this damned pole...” I allowed heart-break to enter my voice. “Please use a key, Master.”

Hugo, no doubt feeling absolutely omnipotent, used the key and a few moments later I stepped away from the pole. Hugo had still got my hands handcuffed behind my back, which in my present frame of mind was a mere trifling inconvenience. “Thank you, Master. You’ve no idea how good this feels.”

“I’m sure it does. Go ahead, walk around. Everything you do, Diane, teaches me something. You’re a beautiful subject and from now on through dinner I want you to stop calling me master. I know I can do what I want with you but there’s no need to belabor the point. Right now you can kneel and make your vow.”

The vow was one of the things we had created together in the lighter moments of my captivity. If Hugo wanted it, I was prepared to deliver, so slipped to my knees, which isn’t all that easy when you have no hands, and sincerely intoned, “You are my Master. I belong to you totally. On every second day I will deliver my body to your pleasure. I am your slave.”

I could tell Hugo was moved. I knew for sure I had done a good job of verbal abasement. I made sure my knees were well apart and my head properly bowed. My captive hands behind my back were still and resigned to the clutch of steel. I belonged to Hugo Markham as no girl had ever done before.

“I find you utterly fascinating.” Hugo was helping me up. Face to face we kissed with an intensity to leave me wondering about my handcuffed wrists. Feeling I had to say something, I spoke, “You spoke of dinner, Hugo? What did you have in mind?”

“Bathe and dress, then I’ll pick the place.”

“I can’t bathe and dress unless you give me my hands.”

With another mutter, Hugo produced his magic key. My heart sang with joy as the twin cuffs were once more locked upon my left wrist. As I bathed and dressed, I found myself singing those small, sad songs of unrequited love.

Once again the magic of a restaurant in which money did not matter wafted me from the clutch of restrains and the bite of the whip. Hugo Markham can be an amusing companion when he chose, and I found myself enjoying his every quip. The first thing we knew we were both laughing as though our situation was entirely normal instead of being about as bizarre as any could be. Hugo exerted himself to make me happy, and I really and truly was happy in forgetting tomorrow.

A cloud crosses the sun, and for several moments we become conscious of mortality. It was that way now, and when Hugo and I looked up in surprise at the intrusion, we beheld a female far too beautiful for her own good, or for the welfare of mankind. She was looking at my left wrist and, as though from old acquaintance, said with deep sincerity, “I know about that thing on your wrist. I know about you and what you are.” She looked at Hugo. “I offer myself, do you want me?”

Poor Hugo, he wasn’t ready for it, and I bristled with hostility. But Hugo was a gentlemen. “Would you care to join our table?” he asked politely. “I don’t believe we’ve met?”

“I don’t want to eat or drink or sit down.” our gorgeous interloper said without emphasis. “I want you to take me home with you and deal with me in the way you deal with her.” She made a contemptuous gesture my way. “If you care to dispense with her. I’ll take her place. I’m probably the most beautiful girl who will ever make you such an offer.”

She sat, taking Hugo’s glass and quietly sipping while Hugo and I stared in wonderment before he signaled a waiter for more drinks. My feminine hostility simmered as I examined the intruder. The damned girl had it all, and was well aware of having it all. She even quietly apologized for draining his drink. “I’m not a drinker, but what I’m doing now is not that easy.” She smiled at both of us. “I expect you know all about making contacts and how impossible it is, my first worthwhile opportunity. And I won’t just walk away from it.”

“But you’re not the type, you’re no sweet, little submissive!” I burst out angrily.

“Did I say I was!” Her eyes stripped me bare, still with that faint inflection of contempt. “There wouldn’t be any point in what I’m asking if I was one of those, what do you call them, submissives? I wish to be broken. I want you to break me.”

“You’re taking a great deal for granted.” Hugo said. He was intrigued but cautious. “You’re reading a lot into a pair of handcuffs on a lady’s wrist.”

“It’s not what I see but what I sense. The vibrations from you both are very clear.” Margo Hammil was almost panting. “Look. I’m a beautiful bitch who wants to be broken by a man and genuinely enslaved. I’m real! Can’t you understand!”

It was obvious our beauty in distress had little interest in me, she wanted Hugo. She was probably seeing him as a dominant force, breaking maidens to his will. I looked down at the shinning steel encircling my wrist and got a thrill out of my own handcuff. I could well imagine what it would do to a girl aware of its intent and purpose. I began to view Margo Hammil with a more kindly eye.

“Miss Durrant and I have an arrangement satisfactory to ourselves. I really don’t know where you’d fit in. You’d probably hate it anyway,” Hugo said patiently.

“I would hate it. That’s the whole idea. I don’t even know what you would do with me or to me ... I don’t even know what games you two play. I’ll resent and rebel and you really will be compelled to break me down into obedience and humility. And I warn you right now, I’m not a humble girl. What should I expect? Chains and ropes and whips...?”

With the arrival of the soup our proud beauty consented to eat with us, I could tell Hugo was thinking hard what to do, so I spoke for him, “Mr. Markham is not the whip-wielding monster you seem to think. The relationship you find us in is by mutual consent. He’s right, you know, you wouldn’t like what I have to put up with one little bit.”

“Let me take your place. If it hurts, it hurts!”

I looked at Hugo and shrugged helplessly. Hugo must have been feeling out of the conversation and now took command in one of those authoritative moments of which he was entirely capable. He motioned to my much-discussed left hand, “Give it to me.”

Two females watched him use the tiny key, both of us a bit breathless. While I massaged pink skin, my owner barked at the intruder. “Stick it out!”

At first I was miffed at seeing my own personal handcuffs on another woman’s wrist, but in that moment there was such an intensity of feeling between the three of us I saw only Margo’s enraptured face and a sudden vista of advantage: Whatever venom Hugo expended on this willing recruit might easily mean fewer stripes for me. Perhaps if I played my cards right...! I nursed the thought in growing satisfaction.

We got her story. Her name was Margo Hammil, she was alone, and her main problem seemed to be a husband she had just divorced. “I really did love the guy,” she explained earnestly. “But he loved me so much he let me have my way in everything. He wasn’t a wimp but I found myself making all the decisions while actually longing for him to knock me around a bit and make me pay attention to him as a man. She sighed, “I suppose the whole trouble was he loved me far too much and didn’t know a damn thing about girls. Even when we made love, he was so damned careful and considerate I could scream. I know it’s silly but that’s where I’m at right now.” She raised her left wrist to examine the shinning chrome now locked on her, a grateful smile on her face. “You’ve no idea what this means to me, I owe you both a hundred thank you’s.”

We took her home with us. Hugo did not abandon me for his new possession. Once inside his house, he lost no time in unlocking one of the cuffs from our visitor’s wrist and snapping it tight to one of the rings in the living room wall. He then grasped my arm and led me to his office. The backwards glance I took showed me an absorbed woman who would stand exactly where she was until Hugo used his key, a delighted young woman playing with a new toy.

The first thing Hugo said upon reaching his office was, “Take your clothes off, Diane, remember this is still one of your slave days.”

I stripped myself bare for my master’s pleasure, thinking all the time of the girl downstairs. To be naked before a man no longer bothered me. In fact, I was discovering a lot of advantages to being naked. It simplifies so much. In the rapport which had grown so strong between us, I turned my back to him and crossed my wrists. Neither of us had said a word or spoke while he knotted the thin cord again and again to rob me of my arms. When I was effectively his prisoner, he waved me to the chair to make me a naked client neatly bound while facing her owner across the desk. It all seemed very natural and very comfortable and I knew I would not want to part with it.

“What the devil am I going to do with the damned girl!” Hugo actually sounded unhappy in the face of such good fortune. “Should I take her seriously?”

“Use that riding crop good and hard on her bottom and send her back to her husband.”

“But they’re divorced.”

“That may be, but send her back to him anyway. If you make her seat as sore as you’ve made mine, she’ll be a changed woman. And if that idiot husband can’t read a message out of the way you’ll mark her skin, he has to be hopeless. I hope you enjoy having me tied this way.”

“You know I enjoy it. Don’t be pert. Hasn’t it occurred to you I might as well expend my energies on our pretty prisoner instead of on you. This would leave you free to really apply yourself to my claim. You don’t really enjoy getting your bottom cropped, do you?”

It was my own thought exactly. Margo Hammil had arrived with almost perfect timing to make me free, free, free! I wondered why I didn’t feel happier but put it down to female jealously. She was wearing my handcuffs and I wanted them back.

I think girls sometimes loose their wits. Without any great show of enthusiasm. “Are you offering me freedom? My vow is canceled?”

“That’s right, sweetheart. You’re my lawyer, not a bottom to be cropped every day. Aren’t you pleased?”

“Of course I’m pleased but it seems too good to be true.” I twisted against Hugo’s twine which seemed unusually tight. Then I made the craziest admission of my life. “I’m going to miss the things ... The things we’ve done together. Please don’t let that girl steal my handcuffs.”

I sat there, naked, my hands behind my back, like an unloosed flower. Hugo was suddenly eyeing me with an interest he had never previously shown. He laughed. “Then don’t say anything is forever. Tomorrow is you day at the office - no beatings, no bondage. I’ll amuse myself with our lovely new plaything while you get busy against the Estate. The day after you can either go to the office or offer your wrists to be handcuffed. Think about it, sweetheart, I’ll be amused at what you come up with.”

I wished now I’d been quiet, but that was to be expected. Hugo was being generous but only because of the girl handcuffed to the wall downstairs. But anyway I looked at it. I came out the winner, and a whole day for Hugo to play with his now toy and for me to discover myself must surely bring the two of us safely over the hurdle of indecision. I allowed myself to be led to our bedroom where I accepted the collar and chain on my neck without demure and watched my master go to deal with that incredibly lovely and sexy woman downstairs.

For the first, and perhaps the last, time in my life I enjoyed bound hands and collared neck. I told myself crossly it was only because I knew I would soon be free of them. But I knew it more than that. Everything that had happened to me since my first visit to Plessious had changed me. And I was glad. I sat on the side of the bed, dangling my legs like a little girl awaiting the arrival of authority. I had no need to test the length of my tether for I knew it already. Knew, also, that I could never free my hands so might as well enjoy the firm, warm indentations of my master’s twine by which my hands were held. Something nice was about to happen.

Margo’s hands were still handcuffed behind her back in my handcuffs when Hugo thrust her into the bedroom. He closed and locked the door. Margo was now an anxious and probably frightened young woman who was wishing she had more sense, but who could not give voice to her misgivings. Hugo had installed on her the most horrendous gag, it filled Margo’ s mouth, sealed her lips and locked behind her neck with a padlock quite needlessly huge. When her eyes met mine, I read in them a conviction as to what Hugo would do with his two women, but I don’t think she was all that thrilled by the prospect of sharing a male phallus with the slavegirl already firmly secured to the master’s bed. She need not have worried.

“Over here beside the bottom bed post,” Hugo told her as he took her bare arm to steer her where he desired, for a purpose I was uncertain about. Margo was twisting feverishly at handcuffed wrists, but since she was getting exactly what she wanted, made no motion of revolt. What she actually did get was something she did not want at all. He simply chained her right ankle to the lower bed post. The poor girl probably could step within a four foot radius, but stood there as if expecting something else. She got that, too.

“You expect to be naked. I hope,” Hugo asked his new slave. “In this house no female wears clothes. He produced scissors and barked, “Stand still,” at the lovely girl.

I had no idea what Margo’s feelings about nakedness might be, she was eyeing the scissors with an element of disbelief. But the things that happens to a girl when she becomes a slavegirl are always something of a shock. I sat there, happily dangling my legs when she made frantic motions with her head, indicating a desire to speak; a desire totally ignored. The stripping of a girl is always exciting. You never know how she will react or what will be disclosed. Either she did not wish or dared not move as her personally chosen master snipped away at a dress which probably cost a lot of money. When the new slavegirl was down to panties and bra, she was panting and I could well suspect she was torn between conventional modesty and pride in what would be revealed when the last of the clothing came off. When that moment came, Margo was disclosed as an unusually beautiful girl who’s body was every bit as beautiful as her face. Hugo had himself a winner! And I wondered if he knew how lucky he was. I suppose I could have asked but was quite content to be a spectator in this small drama of a maiden’s loss of freedom. Hugo said it all with remarkably few words, “You can sleep on the floor, Margo. Diane and I will make love but you haven’t yet earned that privilege. You can stand or sit as you please, but if you wish to sleep, it will be on the rug. You can stop making those motions with your head because I have no intention of taking the gag from your mouth. You have nothing of the faintest interest to say, and slavegirls have to ask permission before they speak. Amuse yourself.”

Poor Margo! I’m not sure this was what she wanted. But if she truly wished to take my place, she was getting no more than a taste of things to come. Hugo tossed his clothes aside, pushed me back upon the bed to lay upon bound arms, and then possessed me while Miss Margo Hammil watched in a mixture of emotions she could not voice. As my master pleasured me. I was aware of her testing her tether with a step this way or that. But finally in disgust, or perhaps distaste, she sat upon the rug, leaned back against the bottom of our bed, and tried to ignore what was taking place between my master and me. After a while I forgot she was there.

I have spoken of change, and probably the most drastic one was my avid acceptance of Hugo’s repeated violation of my loins. Hugo possessed me utterly and I loved every moment of it and his mastery. I never even tried to keep count of the orgasms he extracted from my female flesh but was grateful for each. I was a slave.

Hugo Markham owned me utterly.