'They're almost certainly being well screwed in some warm climate, darling. I never liked that Noyes female, a couple of hundred hearty fucks will improve her enormously.'
'But those poor girls, Susan and Griselda?'
'A waste of time, sweetheart. The young one's are blah. Juicy perhaps, and their first distress diverting, but no depth.'
The woman at the post was seeing visions. Her protest was tremulous: 'That gorgeous youngster, she was still a virgin, underneath some paunchy bastard in Buenos Aires? being pumped at? pierced?!'
'Gosh, she must have tasted good!' Cicely laughed. 'There's no use shedding tears about us females getting pricked between our legs. Its been going on a long time, and some girls even like it. Your little pigeon is probably having the most wonderful orgasms.'
The past was done. Ilona Paisley knew she had lost all power to revive or rescue.
She was literally a slave, or more accurately a plaything. Her life was predetermined.
Wryly, she coined an alliteration: 'chains and pains'! Cicely would sometimes be kind but such moments would only emphasize the cruelty. She looked at her wrist, shackled to the post, and again felt the sting of tears.
'I can read your mind, honey.' Cicely Woods chuckled.
'You're feeling sorry for yourself. How about another?'
'How do you want me to stand?'
'I do think we should be a bit innovative, darling. I want you to face me this time and sort of stick everything out? and you must watch. No closing your eyes when I swing. Understand?'
'Yes, Cicely, I'll try.'
'Sweetheart, you must do better than try. If you blow it we start over, and across your breasts.'
The watching was a clever cruelty. The flashing crop slashed Ilona's bel y and lapped across one flank. She paid it tribute with a scream and the rattle of chain.
Her free hand nursed a livid wound.
With the serious attention of a connoisseur, the richest girl in Texas drank in the sight of a girl in pain. She was finding her purchase rewarding, Ilona Paisley was worth the money. She writhed deliciously. When the spasms of distress slowed, Cicely chatted brightly: 'Remember we were talking about those blindfold things, dear? I don't seem able to get them out of my mind. I've thought of a lovely idea.'
Ilona could feel herself curling up. The lovely idea was not likely to be pleasant.
But she was a slave and had best show willing. 'Naturally I'm interested, Cicely.'
She said lamely.
'I'll have Nora spreadeagle you someplace, darling.' Cicely was alight with enthusiasm. 'First off we'd have put those things on you so's you'd be blind. Then we'd leave you awhile to wonder what was going to happen. You'd feel ninety percent pussy with your legs wide open.' Cicely giggled. 'You wouldn't know whether we were watching or not.'
'You're right, Cicely, I'd hate it. I'd be frightened' spread out and not able to move.'
'Gorgeous, isn't it! You see, darling, the real kicker is you won't know what's roaming around. There's some livestock and a dog? animals are so attracted by pussy perfume. Then there's Josh! Josh isn't much intellectually but he's wonderful y hung, the damn thing's enormous! And I could always get some other fellows over.'
Cicely sighed happily. 'And then there's all the things we might do to you without bothering with your cunt at all. Mmmmm, you really would get a bang out of it, y'know? no pun intended.'
'I don't suppose there's anything I can say to stop it happening to me?'
'Nothing, darling. You're so lucky.'
The two of them were in a strange rapport. In response to a lifted eyebrow, Ilona turned to the post, exposing her back. She accepted the blow with as little fuss as she could manage. The crop was a brute, a hateful intimate thing biting her skin.
Pressed against the refuge of her post, eyes closed, she absorbed the agony as it crept and flashed to every nerve she possessed. She speculated, fearfully, on how many such strokes her mistress might inflict. But when she turned back to face her owner, Cicely Woods was sauntering back towards the house. She was alone with the vertical balk of timber to which her wrist was chained.
It was to be expected that she must stand. Ilona Paisley supposed all owners of kidnapped females thought alike. The impact of waiting at a place of punishment was obvious, as were its advantages. A girl could not be whipped forever, nor could she be tortured without cessation. But the cringing wait in anticipation and the exhausting stand while still quivering from the pain of her punishment were cheap and harmless inflictions without wear and tear on the merchandise. Ilona Paisley stood.
Frustration is a poor companion but the punished woman had no other. The metal band round her wrist was infuriating, it held her as implacably as dungeon walls. She could not stop fingering the bond that clinked back at her in metallic mockery.
And there were her fettered feet! Ilona thought of them, irritably, as 'ironed ankles.' They would hold her captive even though her wrist was free. In this realization she found strange comfort, the philosophy of hopelessness: 'why bother!'
She leaned against the whipping post and explored her wounds to discover the magic of fingertips lightly caressing whipweals as arousingly erotic. Knowing what to expect, the palm of her hand gathered secretions from her sex. She longed for Susan with an infinite longing.
Ilona supposed the dark figure ambling towards the whipping post must be 'Josh.'
There was nothing she could do about her nakedness, she would just have to stand and be ogled. One hand cannot cover two breasts and a triangle of pubic hair. She watched his approach with distaste, a middle aged coloured man with an amiable grin.
'Hi, Miz Paisley.' The grin widened. 'The name's Josh.'
A hand was tentatively offered in greeting but quickly returned to a pocket.
'Hi, Josh. Sorry about not having any clothes.' Ilona made it carelessly cordial, suddenly conscious that Josh could do whatever he pleased with her.
'Gals don' wear no clothes here, Miz Paisley. Just the boss lady. She don' wear
'em all the time neither.'
'How nice for you! Do have a good look.'
'Thanks, maam, I aim to. Mighty fond of cunts. I am. Surprising the way they all come different.'
'How interesting.'
'Yo bein' snotty, Miz Paisley. You mind if I check them chains?'
'Please do.'
'Yo' still bein' snotty.' He reproved gently as his big fingers tugged and twisted.
'Yo' chained real nice. Ain't no way yo' goin' ter git loose.'
'I've been suspecting that for some time.'
'I git ter fuck yo' sometime, Miz Paisley. Yo' lookin' forward ter that?'
'I hadn't really thought about it.'
'Yo' ain't all that hot on the notion. I kin tell by the way yo' makes a fist and pulls on that iron.'
'Well, never mind, I don't have much to say about such things.'
'I'll jest have a gander at yer twat now, maam' Yo' can't spread them legs much. . but iffen yo' don' mind??'
'Do you have to touch it?' Ilona was suddenly afraid.
No one was in sight, they were alone.
'Don' yo' worry none, Miz Paisley. I don' touch yo' nowheres lessen the boss lady says O.K.'
'Very well then.' Ilona found it hard to hide relief. 'I'll try and help, but with my ankles chained this way?'
'Thass O.K. I gits me down on my knees.'
This absurdity was a part of it all, it belonged. A middle aged coloured man peering from below, between her spaced thighs, up at her pudendum. She herself thrusting her pelvis forward for his benefit. Perhaps It was as well they were alone. . !
'Real nice tidy slit yo' got. Miz Paisley.' Josh sounded sincerely pleased. 'Some gals, even the youngun's, got
