'But, how come you??'
'Oh, like I am? I'm supposed to look after you. She says I'm a groom. If you're thinking why don't I run off, it's because I can't run, can't walk properly with all this iron. And anyway, there's nowhere to run. This damn place is twenty miles from anywhere.'
'Then we're both??' Ilona could not bring herself to say it.
Nora nodded despondently. 'That's right. We're a pair of real old fashioned slaves. . except we take our orders different ways.'
'You're still my jailer, and you'll still punish me?'
'Seems to be the idea.' Nora grinned ruefully. 'It's sort of crazy. . you and me now, like this. Look, Ilona, if you don't want to obey me, you just say so right now. I don't want to be mean to you any more. I'll balk. The worst she can do is whip me.'
'But, Nora dear, you've never been whipped?!'
'If you can stand it, I can.'
'It's awful! Worse than you think. It hurts so terribly! Nora, forget it. Cicely's got us! I'll toe the line. You do what you have to with me, there's no sense in us both getting hurt.'
'I'm supposed to do something with you right now.'
'O.K. Do it! If it means untying me, I'll stand still for the handcuffs or whatever.
I'm not crazy enough to run. She's probably out there on a horse waiting to rope me.'
'First off it's these.' Nora took leg irons from the rail.
'Lock 'em on me. I could care less.'
Nora obeyed. 'These don't have as long a chain as mine, but they do have a lock and key.' She explained as she fitted the anklets on unprotesting ankles. 'Mine don't have a key, they're riveted, just the same as my collar.'
'Cicely does that!'
'No. There's a coloured boy. He does it in the blacksmith shop. And he's no help.
He adores the ground she walks on.'
'Gosh, that feels good,' Ilona flexed and massaged her wrists and arms. 'It's almost worth being tied for.'
'You can walk around, Miss. It's not too bad. You want to use the end stall?'
It took a moment to register. The prisoner blushed and demanded: 'You mean I don't get to use??'
'No bathroom, Ilona. She says you're part of the livestock.'
'But? but? won't it??'
'It's part of Josh's chores. Don't worry 'bout it.'
'So he gets to see us both naked all the time?'
'Guess it's part of his pay. He takes a hard look at your pussy, but that's about all.
I bet he's seen a few.'
Ilona hobbled to the end stall. Cicely would be laughing: But, at least, the motion was good. She had scarcely been allowed to use her legs for days. Then, as they walked their restricted steps into the sunlight, both girls laughed. The clatter of their chains was too absurd in this latter part of the twentieth century, but chained they were, and that was the end of it. Ilona's spirits rose a notch.
'This is the way she wants you washed.' Nora was apologetic.
A bit of concrete. At its centre a post. Coiled ready was a hose. Without demur, Ilona allowed one wrist to be handcuffed to a ring at waist level in the wood. She was ready to be washed.
'You don't have to lock my wrist, Nora.'
Nora shrugged. 'Orders. And, anyway, the water's cold.'
The water was cold. The captive took the proffered soap in her free hand and did the best she could. The hose followed her lather.
'Darling, I'm soaping my hair. But after? it's going to look awful.'
'You called me 'darling,' Miss Paisley?'
'Why not! You've been sweet to me.'
'Mostly I've been damn mean.'
'Because you had to. You still have to. Let's call each other whatever comes easy.
Darling, my hair?'
'I'll rinse it good, and the sun's hot. If she ever lets me I'll fix it properly.'
The prisoner avoided questions and answers. What was going to happen would happen regardless. It would be best to take one thing at a time. No matter what Nora was compelled to do she would be innocent. In docile compliance, she fol owed Nora to another post at another place and raised her hand that it be shackled at the level of her eyes.
'Is this the whipping post, Nora?'
'Yeah, I'm sorry.'
'Only one wrist?'
'That's what she wanted.'
They eyed each other in dolor. There was surprisingly little to say. Incredible as their plight might be, it had become shockingly credible to the two girls whose feet were chained.
'I'm going to be whipped?' The girl at the post asked quietly.
'Not by me, Ilona. She told me to fix you this way and leave you alone.'
The kiss and the embrace were deeply satisfying. The free arm helped. They clung together, lips glued, sisters in distress. When Nora broke away, Ilona watched her receding nudity and heard the rattle of departing chains despondently. The nude Nora was gorgeous, and she had forgotten to tell her so.
Left along at the post, Miss Ilona Paisley examined the shackle by which her wrist was held. It was tight, it was heavy. A horse could not have tugged its ring from the timber. The post itself was starkly menacing and solid as rock. It had been there a long time. She herself would stand there until Cicely Woods decided otherwise. With her hand fastened at the level it was she could not sit down. No doubt her present conjunction with the vertical beam had been cleverly and cruelly thought out. After awhile she would get tired. . !
And the wait! She would probably be whipped, but she could not be sure. It was unlikely she was waiting for anything pleasant. Waiting was an ancient torture for naked girls, especially when tethered. She sighed and thought of the brothel? It would have been less painful. But still. .?
There was little sign of life. A horse in the corral, another barn further away, sundry buildings, beyond a clump of trees she could see the peaked roof of a house.
The yard was extensive, merging into brush and prairie. She pictured herself hop, skipping, and jumping through it with her chained feet. She amused herself for minutes by snubbing one ankle against the other. Leg irons seemed so innocent, yet a girl with her feet so confined could do little but obey. Even if given the freedom to depart, she would do well to hobble a mile an hour. She refused to let her mind dwel on the three girls now in Karamal's brothel. It was just too much?!
It was a long time before Cicely Woods sauntered from the path through the trees.
Waiting, Ilona knew the sensations of the tethered decoy as the tiger caught the scent. The iron on her wrist suddenly weighed a ton, her ankles were weighted with metal. She watched, naked and impotent while her owner approached. Cicely Woods carried a new crop, it was long and slender and thin.
'Enjoying the sun, dear?'
How did a slave answer such a greeting. The chained girl was tempted to respond in negro dialect. She hedged: 'It's dried me nicely after the hose.'
'Ready to be whipped?'
'Yes.'
'Well, well, that's rather nice, dear. Sweet, innocent, and unaffected. You won't mind if I give you a sort of conversational whipping?'
'Not at all. I expect we've a lot to tell each other.'
'D'you find the shackle. . trying?'
'Intensely! I expect it's intended??'
'Of course! It imposes a bit of a tax. I mean, darling, how do you dispose your pretty person for the whip, and
