walked back to where James had hidden the car. I wondered what conclusion Hennery would arrive at when he found his empty chain and broken lock. I had a sudden prescience of his loneliness. Perhaps, on the following day, Daisy would be able to earn another five pounds. I couldn't hate either of them. It was gorgeous in the car. I pleaded not to be covered. What would be the use! We were on our way to Castle Glynt, if I arrived dressed Yolanda would certainly strip me. I wondered if she'd be angry at all the trouble I'd gotten her into. She could punish me to her heart's content and I wouldn't complain.
'I figured those two chaps of Ashad's had spirited you away while I was puttering around that damn farm,' James explained as the car purred it's way over the dirt road to the village. 'I had not broken with Bolling, so I went back to the office. There I learned Ashad was as puzzled about you as I was, his bloodhounds were still chasing a lost scent.' He looked at me sideways and grinned. 'Girls like you don't utterly vanish: They're around somewhere. So I phoned your uppity Miss Harding.'
'Yolanda's not uppity.'
'She was with me. She demanded I deliver you on her doorstep, pronto. What's with that female? It took me about five minutes with servants asking fool questions before I heard her dulcet tones. She sounded a bit distrait.'
'That's what Hennery said.'
'He was my clue, of course, She told me about this uncouth voice that claimed to have you and how shy he was of contact. He hung up on her. It sort of clicked. I couldn't figure how he'd fooled me but I knew I'd have to come and find out. How come all those whip marks?'
'He enjoys whipping girls,' I sighed happily now that it no longer mattered, then added ruefully: 'Who doesn't!' I didn't tell him about Daisy. And I thought it best not to mention all those times I'd laid down with my legs apart. I mean, after all! It was beautiful, beautiful, beautiful! I snuggled into my handcuffs and into the upholstery. I kept my eyes on James in adoring contentment. I was safe, safe, safe! In a little while we'd be back at Castle Glynt and Yolanda. No matter what awaited me there I'd be happy, happy, happy! If a faint cloud of wonderment hovered as to how I'd reconcile Yolanda and James, I refused to think about it. Something always happened! I loved them both. My fire burned bright. The homecoming of a slave girl! What pictures it evokes! My heart thudded happily as we drew up at the foot of the steps. Capriciously, I refused to have my hands freed or to be covered. The Castle servants were conditioned. I'm sure the male staff regarded me as one of the more attractive perquisites of office. The females usually giggled or pretended I wasn't there. We mounted the steps like a victorious army. It was not Beddoes the butler who opened the door. It was one of the lesser housemaids. She produced only a faint giggle and gazed at my pubic hair with awe. 'The Mistress is in the morning room,' she announced breathlessly. Preceding us down the hall she threw open the door. Majestically, we made our entry. I never saw a thing. The rug enveloped me and strong hands held it down. Since I was inside it they held me too. How bitterly I cursed the joie de vivre that had prompted my sentimental plea for the familiar handcuffs. I was a neat package, obligingly delivered, helpless! I heard James's vehement: 'You son of a bitch!' There were thuds and scuffles. They were still going strong when I was carried from the room and down the stairs. Even in my struggling distress I was too familiar with Castle Glynt not to know where I was being taken. Steps, doors, changing temperatures all combined to make me cringe in foreknowledge. When the last fateful door opened I was set on my kicking feet. The rug was whisked from over my head. Behind me the dungeon door thudded shut and the bolts shot home. In the dim light I beheld a girl. She was in the corner I knew so well. She was as naked as I. But, whereas I wore only handcuffs at my back, she was bedecked in chains. Ankles, wrists, waist and neck were encircled with the metal bands I too had worn. From the one 'round her waist a heavy chain tether ran to the ringbolt in the stone. She had risen to her feet at our entry and taken a hobbled step against the leashing iron.
'Welcome home, Phemie,' said my Mistress, Yolanda. We kissed, we cried, we nuzzled, we bit. Abandoning our flood of incoherencies we made lesbian love within the constrictions of our chains. It was awkward, but we were compelled by a sudden feverish desire that made light of fetters and links and a measure of helplessness. To have my beloved Yola again was good, good, good! I revelled in her flesh and in the pungent scent of her — all else forgotten! Our devouring reached such an intensity that when it was over we slept. How strange a reunion! Never had a Mistress welcomed back an errant slave girl in so great a depth of humiliation. My darling knelt on the stone and played with her shackles. They were heavy and secure. I had worn them often enough by her decree. Now she was a more helpless slave even than I. She told me of her hatred of the span of links that fastened her to the wall. It allowed her a few steps, but that was all. She could not walk half way to the door. She stood to show me her full panoply of prisonment, kicking at the chain which joined her feet, holding wryly for my inspection the fetters upon her wrists, raising a captive hand to feel the metal about her neck, a band purely punitive since it was joined to nothing. 'They've got me, Phemie,' she confessed wanly. 'And now they've got you too. It's what they wanted… both of us.'
'But James-'
'They'll probably send him back to his precious Roland Bolling with an admonition to keep his mouth shut.'
'You don't think…' She shrugged resignedly. 'No, they won't kill him. This lot don't need to. Bolling will tell him to behave and shut up. Bolling's probably fed up to the teeth with slave girls.'
'You're not a slave girl, darling.' Yola raised her chained hands. 'Aren't I!' It was then I saw her marks. 'You've been whipped!' It was as though I uttered sacrilege. She smiled at my consternation. 'The fainter ones are from your boyfriend's fun the day he and his louts took you and whipped me. The fresh ones are because I was considered far too haughty in my insistence that I owned this Castle. I was told they would teach me a lesson. I suppose they did. Oh Phemie, when I think of all the times I've whipped you!' Once more we wept together. This time I laved my darling's wounds with my tears and my wet lips. I never even thought of mine. We finally got around to the facts of why Miss Harding and, Miss Carstairs were chained in a dungeon. We would have preferred to make love on and on and on! But you can't, can you? I mean, there comes a time… I told Yola my adventures. I know I'm a wicked little something or other but I just couldn't bring myself to tell about the male thing and me. With my darling in that dungeon those huge male organs piercing me again and again just didn't seem real. They were gone! Why hurt this girl I loved, and to whom I belonged. I told of my captivities, that was enough. I made her laugh with my story of my handcuffs and how Fate seemed determined I should wear them behind my back forever. A girl with whipmarks does not have to prove anything she tells. They are a scarlet testimony of anything she admits. Through all my chronicle I had been aware of Yola's troubled eyes seeing beyond me into something else, some thing she did not wish to talk about. Abruptly, I broke the thread of my chatter and eyed her demandingly.
'What is it, Yola, you haven't told me? What is it? Whose prisoners are we?' We were kneeling on the stone, facing each other. She gazed at me with what seemed an infinite pity, and spoke a name…
It began a long time ago as girls count time. A travel folder and a wish to get away. Alone! A two week holiday that would be pure adventure without the nag of girl friends or boy friends or relatives. I was terribly young. It was my first time. I chose the wrong place. Someone had hinted, but I had just laughed. The travel agent had just shrugged and said there were always stories about any place. Any doubts I started with evaporated in the excitement of the flight. The North African resort of my choice was colorful and smelled to high heaven. It had a lot of flies and men who wanted to sell you dirty postcards. It also had the most exciting shops. They were run by the most villainous chaps you've ever seen; so evil in appearance you could feel quite sure they'd be ever so nice if you got to know them. I mean, no villain is deliberately going to look like one. The chap who kidnapped me was positively hideous. Since I'd insisted on being alone it wasn't much of a trick for him. He handed me a brass pot to admire, then while my hands were busy he draped a rug over my head and tied a cord around tight. He then put me in a big wicker basket, the kind used for laundry, and some men carried me away to slavery. I could not see a thing, but from sounds and motion I could guess. In the dark in that damn basket I was frightened almost out of my skin. I knew for sure I'd be taken to a brothel and broken in by a huge nubian, but the only mental picture I could think up was the reassuring smile of that blasted travel agent. To the woman who released me I was just another job of work in a hard day. She did not have too much English, and seemed unwilling to use what she had. 'You are now slave girl,' she said brusquely. 'You will please to behave.'
'You don't think I'm going to stay here, do you!' I demanded angrily. I was so frightened I was brave. She just smiled quietly and motioned with her head. I looked around and got the message. It was a very large stone room. The windows were barred and the door was closed. The woman went to one wall and took a whip from a nail
