courteously handed me the whip. 'What are you going to do with that?' Daisy demanded with prescient apprehension.
'I would suggest the pubes,' the Sheik said suavely. I was suddenly a slave girl holding a whip. I was not happy. I felt like the ingenue surrounded by name stars. From the look in Azzam's eye I knew I dared not decline the honour. But our guest helped. She came out with another lovely Daisy: 'You hit me with that, you little bitch, and you'll be sorry!' I slashed her across the same spot she had chosen on me. She let out a surprised 'Wow!' And then, as though I didn't know: 'That was my cunt, damn you!' I won't say I didn't enjoy it. There was a sort of challenge about the way Daisy was tied, everything was so beautifully available. She was stretched taut and sort of 'thrrrrruuuummmmed' after each blow. She couldn't move much. In the matter of screaming she was uninhibited. I remembered that day with my hands behind the post and how she'd made me stick out my puss for her to hit. After I'd given her six or seven good ones, Azzam placed his hand on my arm and asked Daisy gently: 'Perhaps you now wish to express thanks for my child's attention?'
'She ain't no child, and you're a dirty old man!' It was hard not to titter. Daisy was so predictable. After five more my Master softly inquired: 'And now, Miss Cowslip, would you consider service in my humble house?' Cowslip! Daisy Cowslip! I suppose she must have told her name. It was almost too good to be true. It fitted perfectly. She lived up to it with her next response.
'Fuck you!'
'And now her bottom,' my owner instructed sensibly.
'We must not injure a facility.'
'You're not getting in there you old prick!' My Master sighed happily. I applied myself to those ripe curves so naturally designed. In her anguish poor Daisy became quite beautiful. I had exchanged the whip for a lovely snappy cane. It was my first chance to watch the ridges rise on someone else's behind. I knew I might never perform this task again, so I didn't feel too guilty.
'Look, couldn't we talk this over?' It was a Daisy cliche. But it was also a change of tune. I looked at my Master for guidance.
'You have a suggestion, Miss Cowslip?'
'I suppose you want a piece o' tail, eh?'
'Your social status precludes, Miss Cowslip.'
'Sure it ain't a limp dink?' I continued my task, The ridges began to criss-cross. The rustic vocals were terrific. 'Well, what the hell do you want'?' Daisy burst out between screams.
'Complete obedience, complete respect.'
'You mean like her!' Daisy was outraged. 'Get down on my knees an all. I ain't no ruddy slave.'
'Are you quite sure?' An emphasis in the query gave her pause. 'You mean you're going to keep me here, not let me go?'
'Precisely.'
'I ain't going to stay. Forget it.'
'Have you noticed the handcuffs Miss Carstairs wears so prettily'?'
'Shove 'em up yer' arse! I ain't wearing any.' My Master took the cane from my hand, then handed the whip to an amused Lotta. I joined the audience. 'That ain't fair!' Daisy protested 'That big cow's too bloody strong to be whipping a girl.' Lotta performed exquisitely, My own efforts paled before her competence. The white back became a scarlet grid. At the end of ten or twelve the Cowslip capitulation was vulgar but explicit. 'Alright, you bastards, fuck me or whatever you want. I won't say boo, But stop whipping me… please!' The please did it. From Daisy, it was total surrender. My Master was pleased. He patted my head and motioned to the sweat soaked nakedness panting in the aftermath of agony. 'Try and help her, child. She has far to go.' They did not lock the door when they left. I found a box and sat ten feet in front of the whipped nudity that had become slave. I waited to be noticed.
'We alone, kid?'
'Yes.'
'Then let me loose. We can scram together.'
'I don't want to scram, and you can't. Even if I set you free you couldn't escape.'
'You mean you won't untie me?'
'Did you untie me?'
'That was all in fun. This ain't!' I tried to sound serious and consoling. I even ran my fingertips across her breasts in the way Yola does for me when I am helpless. 'Daisy, it's just no good! Stop fighting. Stop talking about intercourse and bodily orifices. Being Azzam's slave is different from what you think…'
'It don't make no sense, love. It ain't possible.'
'It's already happened. It's done.'
'You mean ter tell me?' I told her. I told her everything. Getting angry with her intractability I told her that if she could accept Colin Hennery she could accept Lotta and me and our Master. Her sulky vulgarities interspersed my harangue, but she listened, I suppose the poor girl had to. I was still talking when my Master and Lotta returned. With them was Yolanda. The only bond upon her nakedness was Lotta's firm grip on her arm. Azzam placed a hand gently on my shoulder. 'My child, I wish to see you whipped.' My fire leaped. I was irradiated with gladness. My Master desired me. Glowing, I offered Lotta my hands. She relieved me of the handcuffs, then bound my wrists with soft nylon rope in a manner I knew well. When I was suspended with my toes just off the stone, I caught Azzam's eye and said: 'Thank you, Master.' I knew why I was being whipped. There were two reasons. The first was to give my Master pleasure and because a whipping was due. The second was to show the girls who watched an example of what was expected of them. I felt only pride. Daisy was released. She and my darling were thrust against a wall and told to stand. Their view was perfect. I gave them reassuring grins, but got only a wan smile from Yola in response. Daisy was busy fingering her bottom and puss. I was tied the way I was for a purpose. Between Lotta and I there was complete understanding. I was a puppet on a string, but very much alive. The lash would animate me. Lotta whipped me beautifully. No one watching could tell the weight of her blows upon my helpless nakedness. Under the impacts I swung like a pendulum, twisting this way and that without control. She stuck me as she pleased in the varying postures this tethered mobility offered. I made no sound other than the sharpness of indrawn breath through flaring nostrils as my skin was scalded by the thong. I knew that which would please my Master most and at the same time offer a message to Yola and Daisy. I writhed, I twisted, I squirmed. I flung my head and my hair forth and back. I raised myself by my bound wrists as though striving to climb above the searching lash. I kicked; oh how I kicked! Partly from a natural reaction to what was being done to me, but also to give Lotta the chances she desired to bring the whip upward to weal my inside thighs. I used every inch of me to maintain a fluid and rhythmic motion to accompany the whining song and the impacts on my flesh, Even when the whipping stopped I continued on. I was totally absorbed in an artistry of pain. I was terribly, terribly happy. I was released. My Master's glowing eyes were an accolade. Daisy looked at me as though I was a being from another world. Lotta locked the handcuffs back on my wrists. I dared not meet my loved one's eyes when she stepped forward to take my place. I knew an infinite longing to share with her some of the heat within my sex. I was close to orgasm. Intuitively, I knew the task Yolanda Harding would impose upon her flesh. I felt every cut of the lash upon the lovely skin. I shared with the girl who had owned me the wish that she acquit herself as befits a Mistress fallen from her pedestal. I longed not to watch her punishment, but knew I must. Yolanda Harding did not move, She allowed, or forced, herself to hang limply from the hurt wrists inside their cords. Her nostrils flared as had my own as each blow fell, but she refused to kick or to writhe or to do other than sway passively under the impacts that told her she was slave. It seemed endless. But it was no more than had been done to me. It was the routine whipping of a slave girl lest she forget her state. When it was over and Yola again stood free, she thrust herself erect and looked her Master in the eye. When she said 'thank you' in a voice without warmth I could not tell whether her words were mocking or meek. But, watching, I felt certain her slavery had begun. It was on the following day that James Pollard came back into my life.
Lotta attended me to the Audience Chamber. Safely delivered, she unlocked my handcuffs, ostentatiously placed them with their key upon a chair, and went her way. James rose and kissed my hand. The grave courtesy set the tone for what transpired. If my Master was troubled, he hid it well. I knelt before him but he raised me to my feet and led me to a chair. 'There are those who desire your services,' he told me gently. 'It is expedient that I lend you to them. The honour of my house will be in your hands.'
