Melody for Thongs: Extreme Taboo BDSM Erotica - Krissy Lewis - ebook
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Table of Contents:CHAPTER ONE - THE LIVING FANTASY.. 1CHAPTER TWO - PERFUMED PRISON... 17CHAPTER THREE - GIRL LOVE.. 33CHAPTER FOUR - THE SADISTIC SISTERS. 55CHAPTER FIVE - THE THIRD KIDNAPPING... 85CHAPTER SIX - THE MASTER'S HAND... 111CHAPTER SEVEN - BONDAGE AND BRIGID... 128CHAPTER EIGHT - WHIPPED MISTRESS. 164*******Or was she? Benny Matlin considered the word and knew neither of them had achieved its implications. He could whip Janice Latimer into obedience, but he had failed to mold her meticulous enactment of his fantasies into the pulse-throbbing eroticism of his dreams. Janice could be likened to a wife who performs her duties without love. She was not a slave; she was a prisoner.Benny Matlin was not conscious of failure. In the beginning he had believed time would supplant submission for rebellion. The girl would tire of fighting her bonds and of screaming beneath his whip. She would accept a new life in which he was the central figure in a universe bounded by the dwelling in which he held her captive. Love had been an elusive hope unfulfilled. 

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Melody for Thongs

Krissy Lewis

Copyright © 2017

Table of Contents

CHAPTER ONE - THE LIVING FANTASY

CHAPTER TWO - PERFUMED PRISON

CHAPTER THREE - GIRL LOVE

CHAPTER FOUR - THE SADISTIC SISTERS

CHAPTER FIVE - THE THIRD KIDNAPPING

CHAPTER SIX - THE MASTER'S HAND

CHAPTER SEVEN - BONDAGE AND BRIGID

CHAPTER EIGHT - WHIPPED MISTRESS

CHAPTER ONE - THE LIVING FANTASY

Or was she? Benny Matlin considered the word and knew neither of them had achieved its implications. He could whip Janice Latimer into obedience, but he had failed to mold her meticulous enactment of his fantasies into the pulse-throbbing eroticism of his dreams. Janice could be likened to a wife who performs her duties without love. She was not a slave; she was a prisoner.

Benny Matlin was not conscious of failure. In the beginning he had believed time would supplant submission for rebellion. The girl would tire of fighting her bonds and of screaming beneath his whip. She would accept a new life in which he was the central figure in a universe bounded by the dwelling in which he held her captive. Love had been an elusive hope unfulfilled.

He chose her favorite cup. He was not angry with Janice today as he sometimes was in the hurt of rejection. She would be grateful for the hot drink and perhaps for the human communion in her lonely helplessness. She had annoyed him yesterday so was enduring mild punishment. It was understood between them that the standing pose with her hands strapped above her head was one of her lesser travails. Its real agony was fatigue and boredom.

Over the months since he had stolen her from her previous life they had evolved a code by which it was now tacitly understood that certain behavior bestowed upon her inevitable consequences she could not escape. Benny had never considered his theft of Janice Latimer as kidnapping. His coercive sequestering of her body was for him a far more sacred act without motive of monetary gain. He had simply wanted a girl, and had since come to wonder why he had waited so long or why others did not acquire one in the same manner. He had treated her pleas for release with a kindly tolerance, only punishing her when they became too importunate. Neither did he allow her the faintest possibility of escape. She rarely tried anymore, but he did not relax her bonds. He was a miser hoarding an infinite treasure.

Benny Matlin had acquired an interesting collection of handcuffs, chains, padlocks, ropes, and things fabricated of leather, by which a girl could be immobilized or compelled to remain in one place. Some of his rooms would have adequately kept Janice prisoner, but he did not trust doors and bars alone. He only felt sure of her when she was handcuffed or bound or chained. He was willing to confess enjoyment in seeing her nudity thus confined. To Benny Matlin, Janice Latimer was the most beautiful thing in his life. His aesthetic worship of his girl in chains was a buffer absorbing the buffeting of her resentment at liberty lost.

He arranged the tray with care. There was a small table in the room where Janice was doing penance, so he would drink his own coffee with her and share a sandwich. He liked things nice. She was completely helpless, so he would have to feed her and raise the cup to her lips. But this had become commonplace. They would talk while he visually enjoyed his own aesthetic creation of female captivity. She would be tired after the hours of her punishment and was unlikely to indulge in recrimination lest it earn her additional dolor. Even though he had failed to make her love him, Benny Matlin was a reasonably happy man.

The captive girl ran true to his vision. She raised her head and surveyed her visitor without curiosity. But some of her lassitude departed at sight of the tray.

"Coffee, sweetheart?"

"Oh yes, please!" Then she added, diffidently, "It's nice of you to think of it. I'm awfully tired."

"Shouldn't have misbehaved."

"No, I suppose not."

Their brief exchange exhausted a familiar subject. The naked girl infused her limbs with life and stood erect, her hands twisting against the coercion of the leather bands. She gulped hot coffee gratefully as it was held to her lips, then bit at a proffered sandwich.

"A few more hours to go, sweetheart."

"I know. I hope you notice I don't plead with you to let me loose ahead of time."

Benny Matlin had noticed, but he knew her submission was born of a prudent avoidance of the whip on her bare skin and that she was becoming inured to the tribulations of being his captive.

"Might say we understand each other," he suggested cheerfully.

"May I sleep with you tonight, Benny?" The pinioned nudity twisted, embarrassed. "I'm going to be so damn lonely by the time I'm through with this punishment." Hastily, she added, "You'd chain my ankle, of course, the way you always do."

"Don't expect ever to be loose any more, do you?"

"No. What's the use? You've had me a long time." Her words were commonplace, spoken with emphasis, but Benny Matlin felt the surge of a familiar heat. He would take her gladly in the night, even though she bestowed her body while retaining the detachment of her mind. They would couple competently, but that would be all. He was content to await his roseate dreams of love. She had changed greatly in the month of his possession. Perhaps one day -- there was always the comforting thought that she could never escape.

"It's better now than the way it was with us at first?" She gulped more coffee from the cup she could not touch.

"I don't get myself whipped as much," she admitted. "But that's only because I obey you. I've learned I have to."

"Is it so bad?"

"Not really. I've gotten used to being what you want and being punished when I forget. I've just asked you to take me to bed. Remember how I used to fight over that?"

He remembered. Benny Matlin guessed he could feel pride in the transformation of a screaming she-cat into this passive nudity standing helpless but without complaint in his bonds. "But now you enjoy it," he insisted. "I can tell."

"Why not?" Janice grinned ruefully. "A girl who's kept a prisoner the way I am needs a bit of pleasure. That's what it is, y'know. I'm sorry it's not love."

"Why can't it be?"

How could she tell him? This was dangerous ground on which she could easily get herself a whipping. "I don't know. Don't think I haven't tried," she mourned. "But I think it's the way I'm -- well, I'm a prisoner, and I'm always chained or tied some way, and I can't forget I'm a prisoner. I mean, do prisoners fall in love?"

"I don't see why not."

"I remember a little rhyme on a kitchen wall. It said how if you loved something, you set it free. If it loved you, it would come back. If It didn't come back, it had never loved you anyway."

"I don't dare risk setting you free. What you've just said is a nice thought, but there's no way it can be that way with us."

"I don't know how I'd behave if you did. I couldn't promise anything." She grinned in perplexity and tugged fretfully at bound hands. "We're boxed into a situation. All I can do is try and be a model prisoner and not get punished."

"Am I cruel to you?"

"You were at the beginning. I suppose you had to be. You're not cruel now. I don't see this punishment of having to stand with my hands strapped up above my head as cruel. You don't mean it that way. It's the way you feel about something that counts. I did something dumb so now I'm paying for it." Irrelevantly, she asked, "You like to see me naked, don't you?"

"You're the most beautiful thing in the world."

"That's silly, Benny. After you've slept with me tonight, you'll just see me as an ordinary girl who's probably a bit of a nuisance."

"You're worth the trouble." He bit into a sandwich. "A lot of guys would envy me the possession of as much of you as I have."

"The physical me, the bits you can tie and chain?"

"If you like. I'll be damned if I'm going to argue over this love thing. If it happens, it happens. I've wondered why you haven't tried seducing me, professing love?"

"I've thought about it, but I believe you could tell. I'm scared you'd punish me terribly. You would, wouldn't you?"

"Yes."

His affirmative ended the exchange. Benny would not stay with her long. Conversation eased her punishment. She must not be indulged. He picked up the tray.

"Thanks for lunch, Benny. How many more hours have I got?"

"What's it matter, sweetheart? You don't have a watch."

Janice Latimer sighed as she watched her owner depart. She faced an afternoon and possibly the evening tied this way. Her punishment might be only nicely started, or perhaps Benny would relent and let her loose early. In such matters he was unpredictable, and a contrived uncertainty added to her travail. She had come to assess each situation in the light of her captor's desire. Her own no longer counted. She tugged irritably at her strapped wrists and rubbed one bare leg against another. It was all she could do. Her head rested listlessly against a pinioned arm, her thoughts drifted.

Escape! It was always there as a nagging demand on her composure. In all her months of being bound and chained it still seemed incredible that so much girl could be made helpless with so little metal or nylon. Right now she was denied freedom by a band of leather around each wrist. That was all. It was infuriating. Benny Matlin was merciless in keeping some part of her forever fastened. In changing her bonds he made sure of a restraint on her somewhere at all times. But she understood his need to keep her safe. If she escaped and went to the police, she could destroy him. There was also a strange content for her in this permanent helplessness. It saved the agonies of being forever tensed and alert as she had been in the first weeks of her captivity. It was a defeating realization but it was so.

She had hated Benny Matlin at the beginning, but the hate had eroded under the quiet pressure of his control. He was always firmly insistent, leaving her in no doubt as to what she faced. Apart from loving him, the only option he had offered was obedience. After many whippings she had accepted it. The first of these painful persuasions had been traumatic. She would always remember it.

"I have to give you pain, Janice. I don't think there's any other way."

Janice looked at her bound hands. There was one on each side of the post. Other bands of rope welded her forearm to it also to compel her to stand as though embracing the timber. She had been stripped naked so that all of her from neck to heels was available. She was vividly aware of her back. They whipped felons on their bare backs, didn't they? And hers was bare! "You're sulky and won't give me any satisfaction, not right now," Benny continued soberly. "But I've thought about this a lot and I think it's best that I whip you. Whipping you is honest. The other things I can think of are mean and morbid and could take a lot of time."

Janice had wondered if she was captive to a psychopath. But the thought crumbled under Benny's quiet reasoning. At that point, she had no comprehension of how wickedly painful the thong of a whip could be across her bare skin. She was still thinking in terms of escape and rebellion. Quiet submission was unthinkable. But she understood his need to subdue her spirit. He wanted a slave and she would not be a slave. She would counter his purpose by gritting her teeth and bearing what she must. Perhaps he would relent, feel sorry for her, glimpse chivalry. She pulled at her tied arms, her fingers splaying out against the wood. She was helpless.

"I'm going to give you five strokes regardless," Benny informed equably. "It's best you know what it feels like, best you know it's always there waiting if you decide to be silly. After the fifth you can stop me anytime. You know how."

She knew! But to kneel before this man and offer humble thanks for being whipped was a thing which then was as remorseful as the whipping itself, a thing beyond comprehension. Janice Latimer trembled but remained silent.

The whip sliced her shoulders with an agony beyond anything she had dreamed. After one breathless moment of comprehension, she had pealed out a scream of pure outrage and torn savagely at her bound arms.

Her captor's voice came through the haze of pain. "There was no way of warning you. You have to find out what it's like for yourself."

She must stop him. He could not possibly know the awfulness of what he was doing to her. She was enveloped in awesome pain, and while she was searching for the words to end it, the second blow curled across the twin cheeks of her bottom. There was something wickedly personal about the impact on that particular part of her.

Her words were vehement. "Stop it! I can't bear it! It's worse than I ever dreamed!"

"Only three more, sweetheart."

His whip bit at her three more times despite her screams and wildly kicking feet -- first her bottom, then her wrists, and squarely across her back.

"That's your quota, Janice," Benny had said gently. "How do you feel about more?"

She had no answer. There was only a confrontation with surrender, and that was unthinkable. Janice tried to explain how unthinkable it was while the whip resumed its cutting of her skin. But her rationale became jumbled with screams and the frantic surging of her young strength against her tied forearms. The measured blows sliced her inexorably.

After the eleventh blow, she capitulated. "All right, all right! I'll do it! Stop! Oh, please stop!"

Janice was shivering with pain and fear, her skin glistening with sweat. Thankfully, she thrust her nudity against the post, uncaring that she was bound to it.

"One more, sweetheart -- an even dozen." It was the worst of all. Her back flamed, but she did not scream. Now she faced only shame and defeat. Hopelessly, she thrust her forehead against the post and wept. She had given in. Benny Matlin had mastered her. It was hard to believe.

"Don't feel bad, Janice. You played it the way you saw it."

"How badly am I bleeding?"

"There's not a speck of blood. Forget it." Janice Latimer sobbed against her bound arms while handcuffs clicked around her ankles preparatory to the freeing of her hands. When the ropes were peeled from her arms, she could not flee. She accepted a handkerchief and wiped away tears. She then knelt determinedly in front of the male who still held the whip from which her skin was scored. Her submission was resolute. "Thank you for whipping me, Benny. I -- I expect it was the best thing."

He carried her to the kitchen and made coffee. Handcuffed ankles rendered her helpless, so she was allowed her hands. She used them to feel her back and caress her weals as she watched the man at work. Everything was crazy. She felt soiled.

"I'm glad that's over," Benny said thoughtfully. "Now I'm going to take you to bed -- after we have coffee. Do you want to be whipped again for that?"

"No, I never want to be whipped again."

"Thought it might ease your conscience. Girls are funny about being fucked. If I whip you into lying on the bed, you won't feel guilty." She considered the impossible again and heard her voice utter outrage. "I can't bear another whipping. If you want to ease my guilt, you can tie me to the bed."

"Sensible thought. Aren't you going to plead?"

"What's the use? You've kidnapped me. There's only two reasons for kidnapping a girl, and I don't have any money."

"You've been fucked before."

"Yes, but there was feeling in it. It was not rape."

"You call it rape -- with me?"

She shrugged. "I'll either be whipped or bound. What would you call it?"

"You could do it willingly -- find pleasure in it."

"No, but thanks. Can we stop talking about it now?"

They sipped coffee in awkward silence. The act about to be consummated hung over them like a threat, but Janice was glad he had chosen this time. The whipping had disorganized her and left her amenable to something she knew must happen. Best get it over with. She kept her sulky silence while she was carried to the bed and tied thereon, her hands spread out to the posts above and her legs obscenely dragged apart and bound below. She blushed for the first time when a pillow was thrust beneath her hips. She delivered her body to its piercing with as much cooperation as her roped limbs allowed.

Her twin submissions had been a new beginning weighted heavily in Benny's favor. Having touched the nadir of female fortune once, it was next to impossible not to touch them twice -- and then again! But she was by no means done with the whip yet. It lay in wait for each imprudent word or sulky toss of the head. Benny wanted a tractable slavegirl and spared no effort in molding her to his heart's desire. In an increasing obedience, Janice walked deeper into slavery.

The girl being punished straightened angrily at this memory of her first submission. She had ceased to be ashamed of them, for she had learned how impossible it was for a naked girl to best the lash. The whip would always win and was best treated with respect. After the first couple of months it was used on her only as a punishment for a thoughtless error. She never invited it. With the passing of time Benny devised other punishments. The one she was enduring now was a favorite with them both. It left no marks. Its severity depended on the length of its duration and the tautness of its tractioning of her nudity. Today its stance was kind, but she suspected it might last a long time. Janice Latimer made her familiar tugs against her strapped wrists and kicked her bare feet to ease fatigue. Hopeless and helpless, she turned back to memories.

Benny Matlin had never been cruel for the sake of cruelty. He had given and she had received pain as the only possible alternative, an essential adjunct to making their association viable. Benny was aware of Janice's mental reservations, the quintessence of the girl his whip could never reach, but he waited patiently believing time was on his side. Sometimes she believed this herself. To love her captor still seemed an outrageous act of feminine weakness. But much of her captivity was a yearning loneliness and Benny was highly skilled in bed. Since he was unquestionably the only man in her life, it was tempting to turn to the assuagement of his arms. They found a rapport in speech.

"It's a long life, sweetheart. Why fight it?"

"Benny, don't you understand how hopeless this all is? If you set me free, I won't stick around to be a puppy dog for you. I promise I won't go to the police, but I can't promise beyond that. If you keep me like this, I'll always be chained or tied or handcuffed." She raised linked hands to emphasize her point. "I'm just a prisoner, that's all. Whenever I displease you, I get punished. But it's not a two-way street -- I never get to punish you."

"Yes, you do -- you get sulky."

"And then you whip the sulkiness out of me, so where does that leave us?"

The impasse of her captivity defeated them. It could not be circumvented. Benny dared not set her free, but chained she could not love. They lived a compromise.

Mostly they shared his bed, Janice's ankle chained securely to its frame, but sometimes, to reaffirm his dominance, he chained her in a small bare room to sleep alone on a spare thin mattress, his possession of her emphasized by metal bands around her neck, her wrists, her ankles, and often a belt constricting her wait. The chains from these metal circlets to the wall were heavy and unkind, but Janice learned to bear them in an understanding of the simplicity of their significance. Any one of them would have held her safe. All together they represented Benny's hand upon her flesh.

She was nearly always kept naked. Benny Matlin frankly adored her body and gave scant heed to her pleas for clothes, but there were times when he came home with some erotic trifle he had purchased and made her wear it awhile until he tired of its pathetic covering and tore it from her. She understood its tearing as an affirmation of his power over her and was careful not to protest. She had become so used to being bare she seldom thought of clothes.

Janice could laugh at her early attempts to escape. She had fought Benny's constraints with a conviction about freeing herself that left her wrists, her ankles, and her neck constantly chafed. She never managed to reach a locked door or barred window while untrammeled by bonds. Even when Benny bound her with old fashioned ties of ropes or straps, she never got the best of them. He blandly explained that they would give her something to do to pass the time and, with a fierce determination, she did exactly that. But she never got free, not once. When he returned, she was always as helpless as when he had gone away.

Janice Latimer never knew what her captor did for a living. His absences were intermittent and of varying durations. They made a game of pretending her lonely vigils were an opportunity for escape. He would, for instance, tie her hands behind her back, hang the door key on the wall of the bare small room above the reach of her bound hands or lips, and then leave, locking the door from the outside. Janice never knew if they key on the wall fit the lock on the door. She doubted that it did, but she earnestly strove to free her wrists, even knowing that if she did so she might still be confronted with the wrong key and a barred window. A prisoner resorts to anything to pass the time.

Benny played one unsporting trick. Janice knew it as one more self-assertion but felt aggrieved. It was to bind her hands behind her back in such a way as to enable her to free herself in the middle of the afternoon. But the door and the bars still defeated her and there was no key on the wall. Returning, he found her standing in a diffident and uncertain welcome, the discarded rope an exhibit of guilt upon the floor. "Finally made it, eh?"

"It didn't do me any good. I'm still here."

"Want a wrestling match, or will you let me retie you?" She knew it was useless to fight. Without a word, she turned and crossed her wrists behind her back. Gently, he pushed her around and placed her hands palm to palm in front. As he tied them, she guessed his intent. "You're going to whip me, aren't you?"

"Of course."

"But that's not fair. I didn't do anything."

"You got your hands free, sweetheart. That's an offense."

"I think you tied me that way on purpose. You enjoy whipping me."

"Regard it only as a deterrent, sweetheart."

Sulkily, Janice watched the binding of her hands. Unhappily, she allowed herself to be led to where they could be raised above her head to make her stand on her toes in stretched readiness for punishment.

"I think you're being terribly unfair," she said. "How many strokes do I have to bear this time?"

"Ten. Twenty if you scream or continue to look sulky."

Hurriedly, she rearranged her features. "Benny, I'm sorry, I really am. Please forgive me."

"Ten."

"Well, then, please punish me some other way. The whip's so terrible. Please?"

"Ten."

She knew it was useless. Once more she was standing naked and vulnerable for her flesh to be slashed. The pain would be awful, and if she screamed... ! But it was so hard to keep silent. She had been whipped often since that first time, and had learned some measure of self-control. The initial shock was still unbearable, but she had learned its limits and might be able to stifle her screams.

"Please gag me, Benny," she pathetically pleaded. "I sure don't want more than ten."

"No gag. Grin and bear it in silence, sweetheart."

Benny used the term of endearment constantly. It never seemed incongruous from his lips, not even now when he was about to whip her. It was a part of the strangeness of this man who held her captive and punished her at will. She called him Benny with equal naturalness, but now she clenched her teeth and closed her eyes.

He tricked her once more, using the long thin cane instead of the whip. It impacted across the curves of her bottom with the wicked sound of pain, bedding itself sharply into tender flesh. The owner of the bottom gasped, and her leg rose and fell, but that was all.

"You've got what it takes, sweetheart. You're quality."

His tribute was lost in the slap of the second blow. Pain seeped out through her being. Vehemently, but in silence, she assured herself, "Eight more to go -- only eight." It helped to know the limits of her ordeal. She absorbed number three with the same stoicism, knowing that if she earned twenty, her flesh would be puffed and ridged so it would be days before she wanted to sit. Desperately, she counted the third, leaving seven to go, then six, then five, and so on. Janice Latimer moaned and gasped as her flesh swelled protestingly, and her feet flailed at nothing, but she did not scream.

"You took that ten damn well, Janice."

"You frightened me into silence. I couldn't bare ten more."

"Hurt bad?"

"That cane is awful, Benny. Please don't use it on me any more than you have to."

Having spoken the words, Janice realized she had passed a milestone. Never before had she been able to view her punishment objectively. Always she had screamed and writhed. She felt an absurd pride. It did not fully counter the scald of bruised flesh but it helped.

Janice's behavior took its painful course from the first days of purely animal reaction to her kidnapping on to experimentation and a determination to bear the least hurtful attitudes Benny would tolerate. The two of them formed a strange bond, learning from each other up to the point where they were at now. Her willingness to take fresh looks at her captor grew in proportion to her dwindling hope of escape. Neither had reached finality.

The naked girl, suffering the hours of her punishment, shook her head wearily as though to dissipate a profitless dream. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, then squirmed to twist her wristlets to alleviate their chafe. She resolved to watch the fault for which she was being punished. It must not happen again. Obediently, she would eliminate every fault by which she might earn punishment. It might be an impossible ideal, but she would strive for Benny Matlin's complete approval. Perhaps he would find it a substitute for love.

Upstairs, Benny had disposed of the tray and completed a shopping list. The tied girl downstairs had hours to serve yet. There was plenty of time. She was a good kid and coming along nicely. He had decided to buy her a gift, a necklace he had seen. It would not interfere with her being collared, and there was not much else a girl prisoner could use. He looked forward to the presentation. Girls loved gifts, and he had been remiss in not giving her anything. He put the list in his wallet and left the house. He did not know it was for the last time.

He was halfway to the J. C. Penney store when the huge truck flattened his car, killing him instantly.

Back in his house his captive maiden stood wearily with her hands strapped out beyond her head.

She would wait a long time for Benny's return.

CHAPTER TWO - PERFUMED PRISON

Natalie Stephenson took pride in her relationship with her girls. She strove for a rapport with each and selected only the most promising lips and tongues. As office manageress she possessed considerable latitude. Because she was still only thirty-two and immensely competent, her predilection for female flesh was viewed indulgently. She never used coercion. She was a beautiful woman.

Originally, Janice Latimer had been viewed and found wanting, but since the notoriety of her kidnapping and restoration into the fold, she had warranted a second glance. Whatever it was her captor had done to her had certainly changed her personality. The girl had acquired quality.

"You've been back three weeks, dear? How does it feel?"

Janice knew all about Miss Stephenson but simply did not care. They liked each other, that was enough.

"I'm still mixed up," she admitted. "Coming back into life hasn't been as easy as I thought it would be."

"You didn't fall in love with that -- that... whatever he was, did you?"

"No, not that, but I was not allowed to do anything for so long I'm finding it difficult. Crazy, but I'll get over it."

"I haven't bothered you with questions, dear, but I read the papers. You almost made the front page."

"There isn't much to tell about being kept a prisoner, Miss Stephenson. I'd just as soon not talk about it. But if there's something you're curious about?"

"Well, actually, yes, there is. Look, it's past five. Why don't we go to a bar? It's been a rough day. Let's unwind."

It was easy to say yes. Benny Matlin had turned her off men for the time being, and most of the girls had boyfriends. Freedom had brought its own loneliness. In the bar, her reticence dissolved under the contents of her glass and the intent smile of her companion.

"What do you want to know?" she asked with unexpected candor. "I'm an authority on being kidnapped -- all those months!"

"Eight of them, wasn't it? That's a long time. Do you mourn his passing?"

"Well, in a way. We'd reached a strange sort of understanding. He left a gap."

"Have intercourse with him?"

"Oh, yes, that was very much a part of his deal. He used to tie me spread out on the bed at the start. Then I got promoted to one chained ankle."

"Enjoy it?"

"Eventually, yes."

"How long did the police take to find you?"