you pay for it, you don’t.'
He whistled the leather down across the maiden flesh so cheaply and provocatively provided. Terry gasped and for a moment closed her eyes. When she opened them she sought his and wanly offered thanks that spoke of agony.
Alfred was touched. Returning the whip to her belt he stepped round and admired his work, running his fingers again and again over the pink evidence of his skill.
'One at a time, dearie,' he conceded cheerfully. 'I’ll be back on and off all day. You’ll be a well whipped little girl by nightfall.'
He turned and examined Dorinda with intent. 'Well honey, shall we do it here or below?'
'I think it would be nicer below,' she said demurely.
As he led he led her away she did not seek her loved one’s eyes.
Myron was the big rough one. He gazed avidly at the female sacrifice. 'Want me to whip those tits?' he asked as though offering a favour.
'I’d rather you didn’t,' Terry squirmed.
'Looks like your back and bum already had a good going over not that long ago. Someone did it for fun or did you rile ‘em?'
'I riled the.' The question had been honest, so was the answer.
'Man of woman?'
'I offended a man. A woman whipped me.'
'Who’d you rather get it from? Girl or a man?'
'A girl.' She squirmed again. 'You men are too strong.'
She looked at him appealingly. 'Have you any idea how terrible the pain is?'
He nodded. 'Yeah, happened I got it once or twice. Didn’t care for it none.' He looked at her shrewdly. 'Want me to feel sorry for you, eh? Well babe, I do. But it don’t make no difference, see.'
Terry saw only too well. Strangely, also, she understood. Myron’s wish to whip her was a part of the same hunger he would appease later with Dorinda.
'Please don’t whip my breasts.' She kept her voice level. She would talk to these men who would whip her as rationally as she could. She deemed it likely to aid her cause better than to be piteous or arrogant.
He looked down at her hungrily. They’re damn nice,' he mused. 'Ain’t been striped like the rest of you. They’re… well, all ready as you might say.'
She looked up at him and tried to smile. 'Don’t think I don’t know how men enjoy a girl’s breasts,' she said wistfully. 'It’s funny, we girls have them, we enjoy them too. We can’t bear to think of them being whipped. We can bear at least the thought of the rest of us. But not our breasts. I can’t stop you whipping them. I can only ask you not to. You see… they’ll look lovely for the first few cuts, but then they get purple and red and I won’t be nice to look at anymore.'
'Well, I’ll be damned!' Myron slapped his leg in delight. 'You’re a damn cute girl. Know that?' He chuckled and leered accusingly. 'You must have had ‘m whipped sometime to know all about it.'
'Yes, I’ve had them whipped. It’s awful.'
'Okay, you sold me. Hate to mess up that bit of heart shaped hair. Might get to use it some day.' He guffawed. 'How’s about your cute little belly. Not a mark on it. Here goes.'
She absorbed the two wrap arounds and gave their donor gasps and moans and some sweet twistings. He enjoyed it all.
'Where’s that, what’s her name, Dorinda?' Myron looked around as though expecting relief to be instantly available.
'Alfred took her below just before you came.'
'Huh' The lousy bastard! Well, damned if I go in there right after a bloody cock.' He strode away disgustedly.
Terry’s day had started. She was not sure whether it was better or worse than she had expected. She wryly reflected that perhaps this was her cue to call out: 'Next!'
'Come to get screwed, honey?' Mike looked up from his desk where Dorinda had tracked him.
She ignored the question. 'Must I be tied the way I am, Mike? Makes it damn difficult for a girl in my profession.'
'Don’t knock it, honey. Makes you push back your ass. Fine action.'
She abandoned a profitless exercise and tried another tack.
'Any use appealing to your better nature?'
'Don’t have one of them things, sugar. I’m pure bastard.'
Dorinda nodded. 'The girl you have tied down there on the deck, she’s not common stuff, y’know. The family has money. They could make it awkward for you.' She looked at him searchingly. 'If you let her go with an apology or some sort of excuse there’s still time.'
'That’s a threat. Girl?'
She wriggled her shoulders helplessly: 'Oh Mike, how can I threaten. Look at me.'
'Damn nice,' he said with approval. 'Lovely tits. But the young’uns for it, see. I like a bit of class and a bit of the young stuff. I’ll take my chance.'
'I’m not exactly grey-haired.'
'Singing a different tune, aren’t you, compared to the last time?'
She fluttered her shoulders once more. 'Mike, I’m so damn helpless. You’ve got me. A girl can’t fight forever.'
His look became shrewd and interested. 'Good old talkative Mabel told me all about that island, leastways what she’d seen and added up. Seems like you was some sort of slave girl? Mabel had it figured you was happy as Hell with that job.'
Dorinda thought of Mark and could have wept.
'Know what I think, sugar? I think that guy who whipped the ass of you had the right idea. Some sort of psychological gaff, the way Mabel tells it. You’ve changed, y’know. Done you a lot of good.'
The irony of it! Mark to train her and make her love him. Then this creature to profit. She realised that, until this moment, she had not realised. Mike’s perception had been more penetrating than her own. In repossessing her he had acquired what he had lacked the subtlety or wit to create. She knew, dismally, that she could not revert. Mark’s hand would always be upon her. She was at least part slave.
'Keep me then.' She knelt before him in the full glory of what she had become. 'Let Terry go. I am a slave. You are right. I have changed. I will be a slave girl for you such as you have never dreamed.'
He looked down in wonder. 'Dammed, girl. You almost got me foxed. That’s about the prettiest thing I have ever seen. But I won’t bargain. I’ve got you both. Pester me again and I’ll make you wish you hadn’t.'
Resignedly Dorinda rose and returned to a chair. The act seemed the withdrawal of a pledge. She had tried and failed. Mike held all the cards. 'What about Mabel?' she asked tiredly.
'What about her?'
'I’ve got no brief for Mabel,' she assured him wearily. 'But will the poor girl ever get off that island?'
'Pretty sure to sometime, honey. Why?'
'Was she handcuffed? I mean, like I was?'
He laughed understandingly. 'That scare you? No, Mabel’s free as the air. Stop worrying.'
'But she’s naked?'
'Being naked would be the least of Mabel’s troubles anywhere.' He grinned. 'Even in London or New York.'
'I think it was the worst moment of my life when you put me on that beach and with my hands handcuffed the way they were. It’s an awful feeling for a girl. I spent a lousy night.'
'Good!' He leaned forward. 'Want to tell me what happened on that place?'
'Oh mike. You’ve got me… the way you have. And you want me to talk rationally?'
'Why not, honey.' He smiled expansively. 'Whores talk to their customers, prisoners talk to their guards. I guess slave girls talk to their masters if they are given a chance.'
'You could be nice if you’d give yourself a chance,' she pouted.
'One more crack like that and I’ll whip you.'
She took a chance. 'See what I mean. See what I’m up against? You own me. I’m not me. I’m this thing
