'I don't know. Abdul took her. Oh, reid, I'm so damn thankful you're here! I've been whipped and screwed…!'
'So I see.' He raised her to her feet, her chain trailing. Then kissed her gently, the kiss of a big brother. 'I still love you. Welcome home.'
'But, Reid darling, I'm still chained!'
'Why, so you are! But no problem.' He chuckled. 'I have to do something you'll hate though. Assef's got a notion… you know, the way men are?'
'Sure, I know. Don't worry about it.'
'I have to deliver you back in chains or tightly bound.'
'What's wrong with that?' Said Audrey Cotswold happily. 'I thought you were going to tell me something rough. After what's been done to me…! Darling, hurry. Get me out of this.'
Reid Hunter chuckled her under the chain and kissed her again.
Chapter 6
'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.
