With the clarity of crisis, the female fugitive from a strange slavery made her assessment of her condition. Everything stemmed from one single fact: She was desperately in love with, and dependent upon, Cicely Woods. Her enslavement to Cicely went beyond chains, it was a deeply emotional involvement, the depth of which she had not yet plumbed. She saw everything, from that first day of visiting Antonia Noyes, as an inevitable chain of events leading to where she now sat on a rock in the wilderness.
She had escaped on impulse, allowing Nora's sacrifice to cloud judgement. To flee was a human instinct for which she now must pay. She looked back at Paisley Publications as a shadowy menace from a distant past. She would never return to it.
In erotic reflection she fingered her whip wounds and found joy in them. She also felt shame, but closed her mind to it as a ghost of the past. If it felt comforting to play with the tender traces of Cicely's whip on the inside of her thighs she would do so.
There came then the cold assessment of her slavery to a woman. She spent little thought on it other than in longing. She belonged to Cicely Woods by right of purchase and because it was her human destiny. Beyond that she had no wish to peer. Slavery was an ancient human condition.
The present was not to be denied, it was demanding. Amusedly, she surveyed the plight into which impulse had lured her. Suppose she found another human in this wasteland, it would most likely be a man. She was a woman? naked! The equation was simple. If she found others with good intentions they would call the police to give her aid, and the police would deliver her back to Cicely with an admonition to be a good girl in the future. Most certainly that was not the way to return to her mistress.
Ilona knew now she should have gone to Cicely and pleased mercy for Nora's good intentions. It might have been granted. At any rate Nora's punishment would have been less than now. She herself would not have been punished at all, now she would be punished terribly. Even if she retraced her steps Cicely would punish a disloyal slave as being no more than was just. Ruefully, the fugitive felt an almost masochistic satisfaction in the thought. It would serve her damn well right. The pangs of hunger nagged constantly. Miss Ilona Paisley rose determinedly and began to retrace her steps.
There was a sizable eminence, a hill. It had been in view throughout her flight.
Using it as a mariner does a star, she set her course. Her feet hurt but even they seemed glad to be going home. When she awoke the following morning it was to the sound of horse's hooves. Joyously, Ilona sprang erect and emerged from the bushes to greet her love. But it was not Cicely Woods who gazed down at her. It was two men she had never seen before.
Ilona felt more naked than she had ever been. The riders were regarding her with lewd interest. She was gripped by disappointment and a mounting fear which held her mute.
'Reckon we've hit the jackpot, Luke.'
'Sure 'nuff. Ain't likely there's two pieces like this running around out here. Damn nice stuff.'
'What's yer name, lady?'
'Paisley. I'm staying with Miss Woods at her ranch.' They guffawed. 'She's the one, Rance. Dammit', that's a streak of luck. The rest of the boys'll be hoppin' mad.'
'You mean, there's a search?' Ilona was nonplussed. 'Shit, lady, there'd better be.
You could starve to death runnin' around here like that. You 'et since you run?'
'No I haven't. But do you have a shirt, a bit of cloth, or something, anything at all?'
'Wouldn't give it to you if we had, lady. You're fine as you are.'
'But I'm naked!'
'Sorta' noticed that. Lovely tits.'
Miss Ilona Paisley had never felt less adequate. Her instinct was to run, but that would be futile. She longed to cover herself but that was denied. These men were rough and tough and there was a look in their eyes as they assessed her femaleness.
She clutched at a single hope, and asked: 'Are you taking me back to Miss Woods?'
'After we've given you a right royal fucking, lady.'
She turned and ran. She did so in blind instinctive fear, knowing she could not stand passively for their pleasure. Her flight might be futile but it was something her femaleness demanded of her. She sped towards the nearest trees.
They caught her easily, grasping a handful of her flying hair. Dismounting, they tethered their horses and eyed their captive with fresh interest. Their air of preordained purpose was daunting.
'Better tie her, Luke. She'll be nothin' but trouble.' Ilona eyed the rawhide strip askance, she wanted none of it. Frantically, she surrendered pride. 'Please don't tie me. There's no need. I promise I won't run again, I know it was foolish. I'll? I'll do what you tell me.'
'Lady, you gits tied, and that's that.'
'Well, could I eat first, I'm so hungry?'
They fed her as they might have fed their horse, a necessary nuisance. While she ate they stood close, hawkeyed.
'Pity we ain't allowed ter knock her around a bit, Rance. That fixes 'em good.
Gals pay real attention to a man's fist.'
Wiping her fingers on the grass, Ilona tried again. 'Let me give you my parole, it's a promise not to even try to escape. I want to go back to the ranch, I honestly do.
But it's hateful to be tied when I'm? I'm all. . naked.'
'What yer' want yer' hands for, lady? Cover yer cunt?' She did not answer, nor did she protest further while they turned her about, gathered her arms and tied her wrists behind her back. The rawhide bit hard, the knots' where her fingers could not reach. Ilona Paisley trembled in a terrible certainty.
'Awkward to lay her on her back, Rance.'
'Hell no, she'll manage. Damn good fer givin' her a feel. C'mon, she's got more'n one place.'
She stood, trying hard to look at the horizon, while her body and all its recesses were explored and probed by rough insensitive hands. She was forced to spread her legs to make her crotch available and to stick out her chest to aid in the mauling of her breasts. Pathetically, she asked:
'Does Miss Woods wish you to treat me like this?'
More chuckles. 'She ain't here to ask, lady.'
Ilona Paisley's initial shame was limited by male arousal. Her body acted as a powerful stimulus upon the men who had bound her. Luke swept her from her feet and laid on the grass in woman's most ancient sacrifice. While he ravished her she wept, but he accepted her tears as an additional tribute and licked them thirstily as he pumped at her with the avid thrusts of a man who sees few women. When Rance took his place between her thighs her healthy woman senses betrayed her, she began to gasp and to respond. When Luke returned to her sheath she climaxed violently in a manner she had never known, her whole being wracked by spasm after spasm of orgasmic agony.
'Dammit', Luke, we can't be that hot. Took three shots to make the gal come.'
'She ain't used to it. Most likely a tongue and groove bitch, and she's scared. Best way ter git 'em hot is to lace into their ass with a quirt. Shit, we got the time.'
It was going to be worse than she had feared. These were virile brutes, infinitely potent. Rape was a quick savage assault, this was a lustful attrition to conquer every part of her body and mouth. She was rolled over, Rance sat astride her neck and dragged up on her bound hands. 'There y'are, Luke, as perky a little ass as a man ever see'd.'
The pain was hateful and bitter. Luke's quirt had heavy thongs which splatted into her flesh with surprising force, venomous bites of leather which set her bare legs to flailing ineffectually but to the great delight of the men whose booty she now was.
'Lookit' them red lines!' Rance enthused. 'Never seen a gal whipped 'afore. I like it.'
'Best way I know to make 'em be a woman.' Luke punctuated his statement with a swift and accurate slash on squirming flesh. 'Makes 'em hot, makes 'em obedient?
and, boy, look at them legs!'
It was a nadir of humiliation. Ilona was helpless. Rance's weight on her neck and shoulders, his grasp of her arms, her bound wrists. .! Al she could do was moan and kick. She wanted to lay still and rob them of the erotic delight of female motions, but the pain was too much for that, whatever relief she could find she had to take. Even
