Golden Wrists

9 Prisoner of San Jancith

It is hot in the slave pen. During mid day I seek refuge in a tiny bit of shade afforded by one concrete wall. There is the strangest smell about the place but since I perspire almost constantly, I am wondering if it is not a relic from the days when fifty chained woman might be locked in this enclosure, and I can well imagine what the smell was like then. Like Uncle Andrew said, this whole place is a relic of ancient times.

If I had my hands I could probably climb out of this enclosure but I do not have my hands. I don’t even have those lovely golden handcuffs, but instead my hands are tight bound with some kind of rawhide strip and I’ve chaffed my wrists almost rare with my futile twisting and tuggings. But what the hell, there’s nothing else to do!

The walls of this enclosure are part concrete, part stone, and a lot of stout timbers spaced enough apart to give no chance of wiggling through. There is also a latticework of rusted iron and an iron-barred gate with a fresh, shinning new large lock. I am a prisoner for sure.

The name of my female jailer is Juanita, she is stronger than I and can handle me easily. Constance doesn’t bother much, I think she is ashamed of seeing me in this condition. There is also a grinning and amiable black man who will rivet heavy irons upon my limbs when the time comes. I am given to understand there will be a sequence of ordeals such as the one I endure now. No one will tell me what the end of it may be.

Needless to say, I am naked. It’s a blessing I have been naked as much as I have for the sun would burn to a crisp any girl who’s skin was freshly stripped of covering. The name of Uncle Andrew’s tiny island is San Jancith. There are other similar little rocks sticking out of the water, but here on this bit of rock, he owns he has all the privacy he wants. I don’t have a hope.

I haven’t even seen Uncle Andrew this trip. After issuing the order by which I am now his captive, he went about his affairs and left Constance to do his dirty work. I think I have been cheated and swindled, but until I can talk to Uncle Andrew I can’t be sure. Constance says the least I know, the better.

Even this enclosure is better then the dungeon I was briefly shown, I think they wanted it to be a warning, along with the pile of rusty chains which would have held an elephant. At least here there is open air and I can see though the various slots what goes on outside, and sometimes Jacob passing on his errands. Sometimes he even says a few cheerful words. Juanita is cheerful enough, but she goes around naked to reveal her magnificent curves and wears a belt from which dangles a wicked looking quirt.

This whole thing stinks and I have to feel bitter and betrayed as I seek a bit of shade and press bound arms against stone. The walls are at least seven feet high and I look at them in longing and in a fury of anger that I cannot free my hands. Juanita must have faith in her knots, which I suspect are wired, since my wrists are the only restrains she has imposed. But even if I could climb the wall, I’d still be on an island, and I’d probably be given a very bad time for trying to escape. I’m up the creek for sure!

When I sit in the hot shade at noon, I think back to how this all happened. It repeats over and over in my mind in disbelief at the defeat right on that first day when Margo walked back into my office after a five day absence The poor girl had proved unworthy of Uncle Andrew’s chains and was thus sent home in disgrace. Her first question was if she could go back to Hugo Markham and be his slave forever. There was a letter from Uncle Andrew but Margo knew the terms anyway and was all too willing to provide graphic descriptions on request. The letter was simple and direct. If I didn’t immediately get on a plane and go to San Jancith, I would be kidnapped within twenty-four hours and would make the journey strapped within a stout wooden box. Poor Margo was frightened of the man. I wrote a brief, heart-broken message to Hugo and went straight to the airport. If I was chicken, then okay, I was chicken!

I had never been to Hemingway’s ‘Island in the Gulf’ and would have been thrilled to death had I not been going to my imprisonment. I had Margo’s fervid assurances of kindly treatment with maybe a week or two’s captivity and one real, honest-to-goodness whipping before being sent back home. I think she believed this but I did not, so I’ve only myself to blame for being naked in a slave pen with my hands tied behind my back. Oh, shit!

I think of Hugo a lot and feel I’ve let him down. Hugo would want to fight Uncle Andrew but I know better. My meek surrender to his ultimatum wasn’t being weak, it was simply a choice between going in a box and making the journey comfortably in a first class cabin, the ticket for which he had thoughtfully included with the letter. The ticket was for one way.

It was a let down finding Uncle Andrew gone but Constance was kind. “I’m afraid he wants you as a prisoner, dear,” she explained with seeming regret. “There’s no use telling you to go back home before you get fixed so you can’t go anywhere. This is an island and you’re here to stay. I hate the things you’ll have to put up with and it’s Juanita and Jacob who will follow their orders and make your life uncomfortable. But they’re an amiable couple and won’t hurt you beyond whatever instructions Mr. Everleigh has left with them. You’re a most courageous girl. If I’d been in your place, I would never had come here willingly.” She shrugged. “But you are here so that’s the end of it. Mr. Everleigh has left a program of punishments I’m afraid you’ll have to endure until he comes again.” She suddenly clasped me to her and kissed me warmly as though I was a relative going far away. “I hate the things Juanita has to do to you but there’s nothing I can do about any of them. Forgive me if I don’t see you too often.”

I suppose that was the beginning. Juanita had taken charge of me.

She stripped me naked and tied my wrists the way they still are tied. She then took me to see the dungeon, and anther equally horrifying stone room in which there were all sorts of horrible devices for punishing a girl. If they were not actually ancient, a simulation had been artfully achieved and I noted with cynical suspicion that every orifice was small sized and would in no way accommodate a male. The slave pen was actually a relief when she pushed me inside and closed the gate. Wanderings within the mind keep prisoners from going nuts. I keep thinking of Hugo and the golden handcuffs, and of Margo, who would certainly be tightly bound at that moment. And she would be getting a fine, wet snatch out of what is not really punishment at all. I hope Hugo knocks her around a bit, it would serve her right. As for myself. I don’t know if I’ll be moved on to my next ordeal tomorrow or left in this enclosure to rot a few more days. I wonder what Andrew Everleigh gets out of treating me this way. But I suppose he occasionally thinks of me tied in here like this, and feeds his ego by knowing he can keep me thus or turn me loose. Such power should not belong to any man!

Juanita is probably as bored as I. She decides my hands have been tied behind my back long enough and I deserve a change. She unlocks the gate and leads me to where Jacob and his tools await. I am still bound and she guides my steps by grasping my hair and shaking my head to tell me I must behave. I remember Hugo using this trick on Margo not long ago. It is wonderfully effective.

Jacob is waiting with his hammer, his anvil and rivets heating in the fire. I get carefully fitted with an iron belt just a little too small, and then held down to enable a glowing rivet to be thrust through waiting holes in the brutal iron and hammered flat. It is the beginning of a fresh control of a young woman who used to be Miss Diane Durrant, a lawyer.

At the back of the iron belt there is a ring and through this ring there is a chain. And at each end of it is a shackle for my wrist. Once more I am pushed and twisted into a desired contortion. Once more a glowing scrap of metal is thrust through waiting holes and I cringe as the hammer strikes it flat. The same thing now is done to my other wrist. When I am allowed to stand free. I discover that I can pull one hand up enough to scratch my nose but the other hand is then pulled up tight to that ring at my back. I can feed myself with a painful indignity. San Jancith is certainly striving for a historical atmosphere. These iron shackles are certainly not the same as smooth, efficient handcuffs.

“You is nice and comfortable, missy,” Jacob assures me earnestly. “You not get loose but you do not hurt.”

“You’ll probably wear then until the Master returns,” Juanita explains. “I think they’re cute and you look nice in them. Miss Durrant. Nice and tight, heh?”

They are indeed ‘nice and tight.’ The snug grip of the irons falls just short of pain. Remorsefully I explain, “You don’t have to keep me ironed like this. I’m not an animal, and I can’t possibly get off this island.” I hoped my voice sounded close to tears.

“We can make it much worse for you, Missy.” Juanita assures with a smile. “Would you like Jacob to iron your ankles and maybe rivet a collar around your neck?” Her tone is sugar sweet.

I hasten to disclaim desire for additional iron, and assure them both of gratitude for the way I am now. Good gosh, if I was once a lawyer, no one would know it now.

I get put in a different pen. I think Juanita is trying to be kind within the limits allowed my Uncle Andrew’s wishes for my discomfort. This pen is pretty much the same except a tree grows in one corner. But this tree will be a real boon at mid day. I have to feel I have met with approval and am moving up the ladder in some one’s approval. After Juanita has locked the gate and left. I went to the wall to experiment to see if my new bondage will permit me to climb. It won’t! No matter how I pull and tug my chained wrists back and forth through the ring. I cannot get the use of both my hands to attempt a climb. I am as foxed as ever. But if it was not for the terrifying solidity of hot rivets hammered flat, I could feel better off than with my crossed and bound behind by back. I go and gratefully sit in the shade of the small tree and wonder what will happen next. I don’t have to wonder what I will do. I can’t do anything!

A few hours later Juanita tells me it is time for change and I follow, her hand grasping my hair. Once more it is to the smithy and I am devastated by what the fact portends. “But I haven’t done anything!” I cry aloud. “I don’t deserve to be punished any more, or have to wear more chains. Juanita ... Please!”

“You are not to worry. Missy.” Juanita assures with an easy confidence because she knows it is not she who will be hurt. “It is believed what you suffer now will make you very good girl.”

“But I’m already a very good girl. I haven’t given you any trouble!”

“That is true. Please do not complain. I will punish you. It is something I am allowed to do.” She thrusts me towards the anvil and Jacob’s waiting smile.

The bondage now grasping my middle and hands would have defeated me for a hundred years but swiftly falls victim to Jacob’s hammer and cold steel punch. My chains are taken off, but my freedom is short-lived as Jacob places on the anvil some heavy, rusted shackles. I am invited to kneel and place my wrists within the awaiting jaws. Juanita grasps my arm and I kneel. But I ask plaintively, “Do you have to use this miserable rusty iron on me? Haven’t you anything that isn’t a couple of centuries old?”

No one answers. Since my wrists are now where they belong and I kneel humbly to await the hammer, Jacob closes the tiny but wickedly solid shackles around my wrists, and pounds happily away while I wince with ever blow and long to cry. When my second wrist joined to my first by only a couple links of ancient iron, I know myself well constrained. It is only a beginning.

Since I already kneel, it is convenient to deal with my neck next.

The collar is the right size for my neck, although snug. I am now even more frightened of the hammer blows which rivet this circlet. It seems so permanent to have cold iron hammered on, knowing that there is no way I can ever free myself from it. I notice a ring is firmly attached to the collar at the back and my spine goes cold at the possibilities inherent in that. My ankles are treated in the same manner as my wrists. I am given a box to sit on while my feet go up to the anvil. I see everything and hate it all. To make sure I don’t get too far up the wall, my ankles and wrists are joined by other chains that keep my hands from raising above my waist. The sheer weight of what I must now carry is daunting.

It is now difficult to walk and I am terribly helpless. Chain seems everywhere upon my nakedness and I make a frightful clatter as Juanita leads me to what comes next. I have already guessed what that is.

Juanita did not call it a dungeon. But it was a stone chamber beneath the surface of the land and it’s small amount of light came from a couple of tiny windows high on the wall. [ was led in to where a heavy ring was set into the wall with heavy chain trailing from it on the floor. The end was now padlocked to the ring at the back of my neck. I was now so ridiculously constrained that it might have been laughable. To an observer, perhaps, certainly not to me.

The door would have held me safe. The rest of the metal was pure punishment.

“Maybe not for many days,” Juanita encouraged before she left. The weight of links I was forced to carry caused me to sit against the wall where I could hold them. The iron was a real drag, particularly that on my neck, the collar with its chain falling to the floor was heavy enough to compel me to grab whatever of it I could to ease the stress. Comfort was not possible but I finally arranged my array of irons to make them bearable. With nothing else to do I counted the links as a nun counts her beads. Uncle Andrew was being a real ripe bastard!

I was left alone and even while it was still day the ghosts crowded the hateful place to make me realize I could be left there forever. I tried to think of cheerful things and to assure myself of early release but the chains and rivets and appalling weight of iron mocked optimism. I cried a bit and forced myself to get up and walk whatever steps the chain to my collar permitted. It was generous in its length but what good was that? Always I was back there to my seat by the wall, wondering why the hell I’d been such an utter fool. I countered this dismal reflection with the knowledge Uncle Andrew would have had me kidnapped anyway and I’d still be right here, secured as I was. I hope my shockingly marked skin would absolve me from the whip for at least a week.

I had a strong suspicion Uncle Andrew phoned daily to have Juanita tell him of my ordeals and the way I behaved. I knew there were a lot of men who would get a big charge out of that but wondered if Uncle Andrew was too much of a senior citizen to be one of those. But you never know, even with men possessing a lot of gray hair. And Uncle Andrew would not have surprised me had he taken me to bed and proved himself as potent as the rest. I was infuriated by the thought of my providing one of the richest men in the world with a little sexual titillation at long distance.

There’s something truly frightening about irons when they are riveted on your ankles and wrists. The knowledge that only a smith can free you from them gives you a cold feeling in the pit of your stomach. As the beastly dungeon grew darker as the day faded, I remembered all those tales of men and women imprisoned for life in a place like this, and weighed down with chains. But I was positive I couldn’t handle it. I would die or go crazy. Already I longed to scream against the ghosts hiding in the shadows. I was the saddest and most frightened girl in the world.

Juanita came just before it became pitch black. I could tell by her manner she was anxious as to how I was handling my frightful solitary confinement. Anxiously she asked, “You okay. Miss Durrant’!”

“I suppose I’m okay, but I wish I was dead.”

“You like to get out of here?” There was mischief in her voice.

“You know damned well I would like to.” I retorted. “Juanita, these chains and this place will kill me in short order.”

“If you ask me nicely to whip your bare, skin. I’ll take you to Jacob right now and get rid of all this iron. Would you like that?” There it was again, the same old theme! But even if the whip killed me, it would be better than remaining where I was. I wasn’t sure about Juanita’s humor, so said unhappily, “I’ve been whipped almost to bits. I’m covered in whip marks. I shouldn’t be whipped again so soon.”

“There’s always room for a few more marks on a girl’s skin,” Juanita suggested cheerfully. “And, anyway, there’s most of your front that hasn’t been touched yet. And there’s always the soles of your feet. Cheer up, Miss Durrant, if you ask me nicely I’ll have you out of here in no time.”

I refused to think about the screams and scorched skin, and dutifully in shame, came out with. “Please whip me, Juanita, whip me anywhere you wish if it will buy my release from these chains and this prison ... Please?”

My shameful begging for something I did not want evidently was considered ‘nice.’ I was helped to stand up and my jailer kindly carried a part of the weight of my chains as I was led back to the magic anvil. I forgot all about the whip, and where it might be used on me as I watched the striking hammer and punch. In disbelief I soon stood totally free with Jacob admiring my nakedness and Juanita telling me how brave I was to keep so still. I could have run away but what was the use!

What happened then was one more surprise. The lovely chains now produced had modern locks and sheen of bronze. They weighed far, far less than the awful irons Jacob had just struck from my nakedness, and the collar that went with them was not hard to bear. The shinning links at wrists, and ankles made me feel like floating on a cloud even though they held me as securely.

“But shouldn’t you have whipped me first,” I blurted out. “before putting these on?”

“I am a tease.” Juanita sparkled at my surprise. “You do not get whipped today at all. And not even tomorrow, Miss Durrant. I was having fun with you.”

“You won’t put me back in that dungeon?”

“No, you are free. You can walk out of this house and anywhere you want upon this island. These chains make sure you cannot swim and make it easy to fetch you if needed.” She raised my shackled hand and kissed it. “The night is warm, sleep where you please.” She thrust me towards the passage and the door.

It was always too much, too soon. I tinkled and clattered as I walked, my ankles snubbed constantly by their chain, but walking was possible. I felt a tremendous exhilaration as I wandered out into the Caribbean moon and warm night. My hands had been chained in front and, even though the links were few. I was not nearly as helpless as before. My heart sang in gratitude, which was sort of silly considering the way I was restrained But the island of San Jancith was beautiful in the pale moonlight and the phosphorescence of the surrounding sea. I tripped constantly but couldn’t have cared less. My thankfulness for being out of that blasted dungeon was intense.

I clinked my way around in the magic night of San Jancith. I followed one of the foot paths to a ridge which I climbed with difficulty but was rewarded by a truly gorgeous view and a comfortable place to sit. I arranged my nakedness and chains to cup my hands beneath my chin and gaze longingly across the silver sea to where other islands were plainly visible. If boats traveled these waters, I suspected they stayed well clear of Uncle Andrew’s island. I hated to leave the loveliness on which I gazed but it would be there tomorrow and the day after, so I found a collection of fallen leaves which I gathered into a pile to give some comfort to my contours, and went to sleep. In the morning I was ravenously hungry and, since the ancient house with its dungeon and goodness knows what else, was the only source of food, I returned and sought Juanita and Constance who shared the breakfast table with me as though I was an honored visitor, making no mention of my chains. After the final cup of coffee. Juanita unlocked the shackles from my wrist and told me we would go for a walk.

I pointed out I couldn’t walk very fast with joined feet, but she laughed and said it didn’t matter, we had lots of time. Constance didn’t say anything.

Juanita held my arm, as much to keep me from falling as to keep me moving in the direction she wished. She chatted busily about how she admired Uncle Andrew and Constance and loved the tiny, rocky island. We followed a different path from my journey of the night before. It led us to a pleasant little green area shaded by widely spaced trees, a little glade in which it would be easy to hear the pipes of Pan, and the laughter of the maidens he pursued. Dead center there remained a grim reminder of human hand, an ancient pillory. A small green vine wrapped around the heavy vertical post, giving the appearance of age. Like other things I had seen on this island, it was just girl sized.

Juanita detected my distaste and the slowing of my steps. Her voice because a soft authority. “It is desired for you to stand here for a period of time I cannot tell. If you do not wish to help me fasten you, I will get Jacob and Constance to help me lock you safe ... Please. Miss Durrant?”

What the hell could I do! I could fight and get fixed anyway or be a good little girl. It was Uncle Andrew’s ultimatum about a kidnapping all over again. I understood now why my hands and arms were free. I raised them disgustedly to place my wrists and neck where the pillory would hold them fast. I could not fail to note the clean and shinning surface in the holes in the wood. I wondered if this had been done on my account or if other girls had recently stood in this pillory to appease Uncle Andrew’s quaint sense of humor. I did not ask, but arranged my hair to the best advantage along my cheek.

“Is this the way you want me, Juanita?”

The answer was instant. The upper yoke was carefully lowered upon my waiting neck and limbs where it fitted perfectly. I turned sideways to watch Juanita click the huge iron hasp and huge padlock. I was fixed for sure.

“I expect you would now like to scratch your nose, Miss Durrant.” My jailer laughed. It is the first thing a girl wants to do when she is fastened as you are fastened now. I will do it for you and then go.” Her fingers were soft upon my skin.

“How long do I have to stand like this?” I asked unhappily.

“I have told you. I do not know. Miss Durrant. But there are worse things then standing as you are now. The worst part of it is to be left alone, and so I say goodbye.” She tilted my chin and kissed me on the lips.

The sound of Juanita’s retreating steps soon vanished. I soon felt like I was the only living thing in the world. The glade was pretty and very still but offered very little in the way of a view. Since I couldn’t stand fully erect. I could see only the grass and shrubs close by. I had to suppose the reason for placing the pillory in this isolated place was to give a girl the shivers in a constant bout of apprehension as she stood awaiting the touch of unseen hands. It was a lot better than the dungeon but I was fixed so firmly as to be frightening. My hands mocked me in their helplessness.

It was probably a couple of hours and I was becoming tired and a little scared when I heard footsteps behind my naked back, and Constance came into view. She looked at my condition approvingly, then kissed my forehead with genuine warmth before finding a chunk of wood on which to sit. Her greeting was forthright. “I’m glad you’re out of that dungeon, dear. If Juanita had kept you there much longer, dear. I would have had to do something about it.” There came a long pause. “But I don’t like the way you’re being treated anyway. I suppose Mr. Everleigh had his reasons but he’s a strange man and treats his females in strange ways. Honestly, I don’t like to see you locked in that pillory the way you are, naked and with your feet chained. And I’m sure you’re imagining all sorts of horrors about to happen.” Looking at me earnestly, she added. “I really have to do something about it.”

“You mean you’re actually going to let me loose?”

“I can’t do that, dear. You have to be punished, and this is about as mild as punishment as you’re likely to get. I’m afraid you’ll have to put up with it. I’ll make sure Juanita doesn’t leave you here all night. What I want is something more constructive, so I’ve phoned that nice Mr. Markham and told him where you are and how to get here. But he’s not likely to get her until late tomorrow or the next day because of the connections he’ll have to make.”

I was enveloped in a flood of gladness and showered my, benefactor in thanks.

“I like you, dear,” Constance continued in explanation of her acts. “I liked you back at Rockley with all those silly girls we had to look after. By the way, the girls are still there. Why don’t you ask Mr. Everleigh to give you back your old position there. I understand Elizabeth Lord is scheduled to be a prisoner there again, you liked her, didn’t you?”

“But won’t you get into all sorts of trouble if you let me free? If Andrew Everleigh discovers it was you who told Hugo where I am?” I shifted anxiously against the pillory.

“Mr. Markham would have discovered where you are anyway, it would simply have taken longer. I can’t tell what sort of pickle Juanita will have you in when he arrives, but I’ll guide his steps some way or other. And no one will ever know you were not rescued by your knight in shinning armor.”

“But if Hugo gets me off this island and back to New York, Uncle Andrew will just have me kidnapped again, or give me another of those propositions where I can come quietly or else. I won’t come here quietly again, I just won’t! Oh, Constance, you’re being so kind.”

“I really don’t know about him kidnapping you again,” Constance admitted slowly. “I do know you’ve got under his skin some way, quite probably no more than some minor thing you’ve done. Or it could just be he likes the idea of having a lady lawyer naked and handcuffed for his amusement. I wouldn’t worry too much about it, dear, because I’ve seen him interested in a lot of girls he soon forgets. Usually he sends them away with a nice check. I don’t know why he sent the two of us here, but I suppose it’s some sort of fantasy he has. If Mr. Markham comes to rescue you, you’d better run and don’t stop until you’re far away from here.”

“You can count on it. But, in the meantime, you sure you can’t let me out of this beastly contraption?”

“It wouldn’t be wise, dear. You can put up with it for a few hours. Look, Miss Durrant, it’s time I was back at the house. And, anyway, you’re supposed to be left alone. And try to stop worrying.” She kissed me gently and vanished beyond my range of vision.

Solitude returned like an ancient enemy. Once more I went through the fruitless exercises of looking at my hands, trying to twist my neck against the hard wood, and gazing as best I could at my limited view. It was a delightful view I was in no condition to enjoy. I kicked one chained foot fretfully against the other, and relapsed into a state of helplessness.

It may have been an hour or perhaps two before I heard the sounds to send shivers up and down my spine. Someone was coming, someone I could not see, but someone I instinctively felt would bring me no good. The steps were bold, there was nothing small about them. When I knew their owner was standing close behind my pilloried nakedness, I had no time to ask a question before my head and shoulders were enveloped in a sizable square of cloth. Even though it failed to blind me totally, it did prevent me from seeing what now took place. There came the unmistakable fitting of the key in the padlock, followed immediately by the lifting of the heavy metal hasp. Still in sinister silence, the cloth was whisked away by a hand behind my back to leave me blinding in amazement and hear running footsteps retreating. I stood tense and waiting and not instantly aware of possibilities.

It was a breathless moment when I tried to move but felt defeat when my tugs and twistings discovered the pillory as solid as ever. It was another minute before I realized that I had pulled instead of lifting. It was not easy pushing the heavy wood upward with the backs of my wrists but I managed to lift it far enough to get one hand turned around. Then it was easy to lift it the rest of the way and find myself standing there, arms and head completely free.

I didn’t run, my feet were still chained, and, anyway, there was nothing from which to flee. I stood there, happily rubbing wrists and neck, and examining the ridiculously large lock in which some friendly hand had turned the key - or was it a friendly hand! Enveloped in a joyous feeling of relief and release, I clinked my shackled steps to the bit of wood on which Constance had sat while we talked. I sat there too.

I had hands and arms and about half use of my feet. But even though almost physically free, my mind was a turmoil of confusion. Not so much over who had set me free, but why? And what to do now? I was still a prisoner on the island, and any exploration I was to do would have to be done with short steps. Chained feet prevented me swimming and the obvious thing to do was to make my way back to the lovely old house, which for me had not been lovely at all. Whenever I thought of it, I saw only that damned dungeon and those beastly chains. I might be driven there eventually by the need for food, but until that time I would explore the shoreline in the hope of finding some sort of boat, even a rowboat. Or perhaps waving at any vessel that should venture close enough to see. If someone on the island was watching and laughing at my plight, they were welcome to look. I had little doubt I was the focus of an experiment, but with a tremendous sense of adventure, I rose and kicked angrily at my chain.

It was not the first time I had walked with shackled feet, but I had ever become used to it. At least I did not fall on my face. Resigned to my metallic handicap, I clinked my way towards the sea.

It was very beautiful but very hopeless. I actually discovered a small jetty to which was attached a motorboat. Unfortunately the boat was attached to the dock with heavy chains and padlocks, no doubt placed there for the express purpose of preventing just what I was planning.

I may not have been able to use the boat to escape, but exploring the cabin brought to me a small fridge in which I found a couple of sandwiches and a chunk of cake. I devoured them hungrily. Feeling better, I continued on my search.

It was quite useless. I found no rowboat, nor were there any craft out on the ocean. When night came I still feared a return to the big house and consigned myself to sleep beneath a bush. In the morning, while I was still rubbing the sleep from my eyes, the awfulness happened. Something was thrown over my head and shoulders by an unseen hand. It’s drawstring was drawn tight while someone thrust me to the ground, knelt on my back, and proceeded to bind my hands and arms. My wrists were crossed and corded tight in a manner I knew all too well. This done, and with me floundering helplessly, swift fingers unlocked the fetters from my feet. I was hauled erect and strong hands propelled me forward toward a blind destination I could not guess.

The whole thing had been done in silence. Now, as I was forced to walk to an unknown fate, I pleaded and questioned to no avail. By the sound of the ocean I assumed I was being taken to a boat. Hot sand under my feet told me we were walking over a sandy beach. We stopped within the sound of surf while hard male hands positioned me to some sort of male pleasure. Suddenly my ankles were looped with rope.

I couldn’t do a thing except complain and question and twist against bound wrists. The cording of my ankles had been swift and deadly. They were tied to something that was solid and unmoving, about a foot apart. Hands steadied me as I teetered in this new bondage. Then, with me standing helpless, those hands explored my breasts, finally moving down to take possession of my defenseless sex. This male mauling was of short duration in what I had to suppose was carnal enjoyment of my charms. Suddenly the hands were gone and I heard the sounds of feet running back towards the island. I stood alone.

It was strange and frightening to stand as I now stood and wonder what came next. It was almost a minute before I realized the drawstring of the blindfold was loose and it took me another couple of minutes of tossing and twisting my head to get rid of the bag. Blinking in the brilliance of a sunlit stretch of sand, I looked down to where my ankles were tied tight to an ancient rusted anchor no one had found interesting enough to haul away. It weighed a ton and held me as firmly as it might once have held a ship. I twisted tied wrists but soon gave that up as hopeless and took a wider view of my surrounding.

I was tethered on one of several such beaches on San Jancith.

No human being was in sight, and I scanned the tree line in a certain conviction that someone was watching. No doubt my behavior in this bound solitude would prove of interest to a watcher I could not see. Since I was evidently here to stay for a while, I gauged the possibilities of sitting down but was frightened to take the chance for fear of breaking an ankle or being unable to get back on my feet. The safest thing was to stand and become a well behaved but tired little girl. I guessed that was the purpose of the exercise, but my guess was wrong.

The sea was the sea, and I had no reason to hope for a rescue from the wave. I had stood in blatant bare exposure for an hour before realizing the import of the tide, the lapping and receding wavelets were now far closer than before. My heart contracted in fear as I read the message in the contours of the beach, mostly the line marking the highest intrusion of water upon the sand. The sharp slope on which I stood bound would insure my becoming victim to the rising tide. I screamed for help.

Reason told me I would not be left to drown, but right then I wasn’t much concerned with reason but only with the surge of surf as each wave thrust its dark water and foam higher on the sand. Now, with me all too conscious of my fate, the water’s advance was more rapid. Soon the first wavelet lapped my toes and I knew myself fastened thus to drown. Again and again I screamed for help, my voice lost in the vast ocean and long beach. None heard my cry.

I was alone.