Wydawca: Taboo Pulp Press Kategoria: Obyczajowe i romanse Język: angielski Rok wydania: 2017

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Opis ebooka Tormented Anguish: Extreme BDSM Erotica - Carmen Nichols

Table of Contents:CHAPTER ONE - CIRCLES OF STEEL    1CHAPTER TWO - I LEARN    17CHAPTER THREE - MEDIEVAL MAIDEN    33CHAPTER FOUR - CRANSTON'S CAPTIVE    51CHAPTER FIVE - THE HONORABLE MABLE    67CHAPTER SIX - NOBILITY IN IRONS    80CHAPTER SEVEN - ANGELA'S ANGUISH    94CHAPTER EIGHT - SLAVES OF EL KABAR    118CHAPTER NINE - MABLE'S MASTER    163CHAPTER TEN - POOR ANGELA    185*******This book is hot. A trashy, sleazy, *full-length* (100+ Pages) post-censorship erotic novel. But, if you really want, here's the briefest of excerpts:******************I expect a real convict girl locked in a real cell because of a real crime goes through all the emotions that kept me quivering like a leaf. The first of these was fear. Chained nakedness was not an easy thing to adjust to. The next thing was the loss of freedom and will. I was a nothing, just a pretty parcel of naked girl, checked against the wall as one might check luggage at a railway station. There was also the still smarting marks of that riding crop upon my skin. I wasn't sure of those, they might have been a necessary part of a charade, if indeed this was only that. Or they may have been the beginning of something else. Mixed up with all this was the memory of Mable's hot lips and the thrust of our bellies and loins... ! Surely that meant something. . . . Or did it!I then considered my nakedness. Mable and I had not discussed it. I could only assume she wanted me naked to make me more submissive and easier to handle. Surely she could use her riding crop on me to far greater effect that if I was clothed. I realized this nakedness did strange things to me, like accenting my helplessness, but also adding the color of sexuality to everything done to me thus far. I could easily discern this sexual arousal remaining a part of whatever Mable did with me or to me. My loins flared at that single word, of what she might "do" to me. It left me with one more quiver to cope with.I still refused to believe Mable's story about keeping me prisoner for a protracted length of time. Her possession of me had already gone beyond the bounds of one of Reggie's "pleasantries, " I had to suppose the Reggie or Mable had decided to go a step farther this time in whatever excitement they got out of scaring a girl to death. I couldn't see beyond that but, uncomfortably, I realized Mable might easily keep me for a week or so and there seemed little I could do about it. Disgustedly I looked at the bed which might as well have been in the wilds of Africa for all the good it did me. It was out of reach. Grudgingly I slithered to the rug, it would be less tiring than standing but it wasn't all that good because I had to hold my cuffed hand at a level above my head. It was simply the best I could do and my first glimpse at the compromises a captive girl had to make.Mable took her time. It was dark before she returned and I'd been sort of nodding with my head against my raised arm. I'd twisted and tugged at it until my wrist was chaffed. Common sense told me I could not withdraw it through that metal but instinct said otherwise, instinct told me I had to try. Logic aside, I still found it hard to believe a shiny little handcuff could keep me against the wall to await Mable's pleasure. Had she bound and gagged me it would have made more sense and I would have accepted it more easily.*****

Opinie o ebooku Tormented Anguish: Extreme BDSM Erotica - Carmen Nichols

Fragment ebooka Tormented Anguish: Extreme BDSM Erotica - Carmen Nichols

Tormented Anguish

Carmen Nichols

Copyright © 2017

Table of Contents

CHAPTER ONE - CIRCLES OF STEEL

CHAPTER TWO - I LEARN

CHAPTER THREE - MEDIEVAL MAIDEN

CHAPTER FOUR - CRANSTON'S CAPTIVE

CHAPTER FIVE - THE HONORABLE MABLE

CHAPTER SIX - NOBILITY IN IRONS

CHAPTER SEVEN - ANGELA'S ANGUISH

CHAPTER EIGHT - SLAVES OF EL KABAR

CHAPTER NINE - MABLE'S MASTER

CHAPTER TEN - POOR ANGELA

CHAPTER ONE - CIRCLES OF STEEL

"A cute trick, I picked it up in town the other day," said Reggie Tufton confidentially. "Here, let me show you."

I'd known the amiable idiot half my life, so why not! I allowed him to possess my left hand and the first thing I knew it was firmly handcuffed out of sight to the table and most certainly lost to me.

Reggie Tufton does this sort of thing all the time, we're accustomed to him and it's actually rather fun. Playing along, I asked, still without alarm, "Well, when do you produce the white rabbit?"

"She'll be along almost any time, dear girl," Reggie assured me earnestly. "The thing is not to panic. Look upon this experience as just one more of my amusing little pleasantries."

"Well, isn't it!"

"Well, not exactly, Angela, dear girl. Quite soon someone will arrive who will explain the whole thing to you."

Everyone loves Reggie Tufton. He couldn't possibly leave me with my hand cuffed under the table so I was still curious as to why he had fastened my hand under the table. The joke might not be on me but on someone else yet to appear. Testily I complained, "I'm sure this will all be very funny but right now that steel thing you've got round my wrist is tight enough to hurt. I think you'd best unlock it."

As I watched Reggie's retreating back I realized I could add my utterance to other "last words." I watched him pay the bill and depart from Ye Olde Tea Potte while I sat stricken with irritation and a touch of apprehension. Damn it, I was handcuffed to an immobile object in a public place. Anything I did was likely to result in a shocking disgrace. Feverishly in an effort to maintain a simulation of normalcy, I sipped my tea and nibbled a watercress sandwich while bitterly reflecting that I might consider myself lucky to have one hand by which to allay suspension of my true condition. What I was thinking of Reggie Tufton should have burned his ears.

Using only my hand and forearm I turned and twisted and tugged at the beastly thing locking my wrist down there out of sight. I thought of trapped wild things out in the forest and knew there was no way I was going to get out of that metal band which bit at me as though alive. I couldn't be too vigorous in the effort because of the clink of links and metal cuff. I longed to kneel and examine it but was not yet ready for that predicament. I did my best to appear the calm and composed Miss Angela Maberly the tea shop knew only as a patron not as a possible convict chained to one of their tables. I was reconciling myself to sitting thus until closing time, sipping tea and nibbling watercress sandwiches, when the white rabbit showed up on time.

It was really a white rabbit. It was the honorable Mrs. Mable Wycherly, a lady of uncertain age but most definitely in with the right people. I had known Mable Wycherly just as long as I had known Reggie. She wasted no words but, beaming a happy smile, held up a tiny key the sight of which made my heart leap in thankfulness.

"Reggie gave me this in the parking lot," she confided. "He really is an idiot, isn't he, but such a darling boy. I'll sit as close to you as I decently can and get this little matter dealt with as quietly as possible."

I was so happy I would have agreed to anything. And, anyway, Mable Wycherly is very good company. When she told me to look the other way while she searched for the imprisoned hand, I did so without the thought of anything happening. Reggie had had his little joke and now I would have an extra cup of tea with Mable before we went our separate ways. Good gosh, looking back at it now I have to wonder how innocent a girl can be!

The honorable Mable Wycherly was working in the dark, that small key might not find its hole too easily. When she asked me to reach my right arm down there also, I obeyed without second thought. There reached my ears two of those clicking noises with which Reggie had first acquainted me with the handcuffs. In stupid non-comprehension I knew myself more imprisoned that before. The tiny key had worked its magic on Reggie's but only on that cuff attached to the table. And that one was now on my other wrist, leaving me with shackled wrists under the table. I straighten erect, thrusting my joined hands hard into my lap out of sight. I glared at Mable who was now placing Reggie's tiny key in her handbag. I realized that she had been very adept at the under table work, for more so than one would expect from a society matron. Busily she rearranged her chair, beamed upon me with uttermost affection, then tossed a silken scarf across the table. "It will cover them nicely, darling. If you're careful no one will notice a thing. Please don't be angry, the game still isn't over."

"It's over as far as I'm concerned. Mable, take these horrible things off my wrists."

"Not in the restaurant, dear. Just be patient."

"But everyone will see!"

"Not if you use that scarf cleverly, dear as I'm sure you will. I'm afraid you're stuck with Reggie's little joke. Try not to hate us."

Mable Wycherly is thirty-eight. Against my twenty-six she was almost maternal. She had the ability to be either girlfriend or maternal aunt at will. In the second roll she could get away with murder. I heaved a heavy sigh of discontent and fumbled with her scarf. What the hell else could I do!

Cobblestone Mews are frightfully posh. They haven't seen a horse in ages but the cobblestones are real, a thing with the very rich. I visited the honorable Mable Wycherly often enough. It was the Town Residence, her ancestral home being Cranston Manor back from Lyme Regis in the country of Dorset. Cranston Manor and it Great Park were gorgeous relics of the age of privilege, as yet unspoiled. Cobblestone Mews tried hard to be a graceful replica of their eminence, it was often referred to as a back street of obsolete nobility.

At any rate, Mable took me there while my mind was furiously debating ways I could escape her handcuffs without attracting undesirable attention. By the time her door closed at my back my hands were still joined and I had reached no acceptable conclusion as to what I could do about it. I stood in the familiar halls and felt foolish. "You'd like to get them off, dear?"

"Yes, please." I was being cautiously polite.

"This way, dear." Mable led me to the lounge and produced her tiny, magic key. A few moments later I was standing, more mystified than ever, with my right wrist handcuffed to a convenient ring in the wall. Any advantage I might have had during the process was lost in disbelief this could happen. I rattled the handcuff and ring in futile irritation to demand, "This has gone far enough, Mable. Unlock this beastly thing and we can still be friends. If this is one of Reggie's jokes, you can tell him I refuse to play."

"It isn't one of Reggie's jokes, dear."

It took a moment to register. I then found myself, back to the wall, my imprisoned hand helpless at my side, glaring angrily at a woman who had always been my friend. "Tell me about it," I said disgustedly. "Perhaps I ought to know?"

"I collect girls, dear. I've collected you."

"That's nonsense. Oh, Mable, please be sensible. Having my hand like this is awful."

Mable came close, tilted my chin and kissed me hard upon the lips, hard and long enough to leave me panting. I could back no further nor leave my tether so stood in watchful waiting while Mable's hands reached for the fastening of my dress. I didn't realize her intent until she had me with one shoulder and one arm completely bare. Startled, I used my free hand to repair what she had done, my voice trembling, "You can't undress me, Mable. For goodness sakes, we don't have to be indecent! Anyway, you can't removed all my clothes with my hand fastened."

"Poor little pigeon!"

The honorable Mable Wycherly could not have used words more apt. That's exactly how I felt, a wild bird about to get it's wing clipped. This was a Mable Wycherly I had not previously met. I could not think if a thing to say that would not sound trite. I stood still and disgustedly felt myself trembling.

"I've all ready for you darling. Let me show you some of the lovely things I've bought for you."

I began to sense something beyond a joke as I watched her bring the box and place its contents in plain view. I could recognize the whip. It was not a long whip but I was quite sure it could hurt quite bitterly. There was a thing I took for a cork remover, at least that's what it looked like. And there was the collar and with it a chain. A collar is not a thing to fear and I stood hypnotized while the honorable Mable Wycherly stood to clasp the lovely bejeweled band around my neck. There was a deadly click and, when I raised my free hand to find any lock or joint to tell me it was not there permanently. There was then the chain. It was not a heavy chain but heavy enough that neither I nor six other girls could conceivably break it. It joined my collar with a padlock and then another padlock secured it to the ring in the wall. "Isn't it lovely," Mable enthused. "Here, let me unfasten you wrist." It was very clever and the cleverness was frightening. I stood there completely free except for the collar upon my neck. It leashed me to the wall as a dog is leashed to its kennel. What came next was no surprise. "Take you clothes off, Angela, darling. There's not a thing to stop you now. Isn't that a lovely arrangement?"

"Mable, you're being an absolute bitch. This has gone all together too far. I don't know what you and Reggie have got hashed up for me but I absolutely refuse to play. Set me free from this medieval claptrap, it's not too late to stay friends."

"Take you clothes off, Angela." It was a deadly repetition. Fascinated, I watched Mable pick up the limber length of the short whip, a riding crop, and flex it suggestively between her hands. "This little darling hurts horribly, dear. Wouldn't it be a lot better to undress?" I had not melodramatic feeling of Mable being an enemy, she had instead become a force, a force I could not understand. Doing a quick assessment, I wondered if I could grab the crop as it slashed at me, and perhaps grab Mable, too. But, chained to the wall as I was, I would be terribly handicapped, and, in any case, felt no assurance in my ability to overcome this scion of the nobility and extract the key to my collar from where ever she had it hidden. As though reading my thoughts, Mable produced the little metal object, held it for my inspection, before placing it on the sideboard, far from my reach. Now, if I did succeed in gaining the upper hand, it would be only a stalemate. Unless I released my grip on her she could not release me. I had never felt so foxed.

As thought giving me time to make up my mind, Mable now picked up the other object in the box. "The bracelet fits around your wrist, dear, it's actually a single handcuff but on a solid stem on the grip which I hold. If I turn it, I can make you do anything I wish. If I turn it too far, it will break your wrist. They invented it in Mexico to make prisoner's behave themselves."

"Mable, this is insane! I don't believe it's happening, you were my friend!"

"I'll still be your friend, darling, once you've adjusted to your new life. Reggie will be your friend, too."

"How can you talk of friendship when you're holding a whip in one hand and a torture instrument in the other. Mable, be sensible!" The riding crop bit through the air to slice my legs below the dress. A right and a left to inflict on me the most awful pain I'd ever known. I found myself hopping like a stork and reaching my free hand down to assure myself my legs had not been severed at the calf. Pain formed my words, "Mable, that hurt something awful! I can't stand it. Put that riding crop away."

"That's right, darling, no girl can stand still for very much of this." Mable's tone was almost placating. "What you have to understand now is that I can stand away from you and whip you to my heart's content. Sure, you're wearing a dress, but you're legs and arms are bare and the thin stuff over your shoulders isn't much protection. If you refuse to be sensible I'll simply start whipping you and you can undress whenever you feel like it."

"But that's barbarous! It's... it's cruel!"

"Only because you make it so, darling. Why not be civilized and remove your clothes? Is it that big a deal in front of a woman?" Slowly my hand reached for the fastening of the dress. It wasn't me doing this, it was someone else, someone else I'd never met, a girl terribly afraid. I got it down off my shoulders to reveal my bra before stopping to say, flatly, "I can't. I could strip for you in a bedroom or a powder room or some such place. But not here, chained to a wall, for some reason I don't even know about. Mable, please...!"

I had unwisely bared my shoulders and most of my breasts before speaking. The riding crop bit at me savagely and wickedly and there was no ways I could turn to shield my bare skin. This time it was four strokes and I was in such a dither of agony and confusion I lost no time in divesting myself of every bit of clothing I wore. I kicked off my shoes and did not stop to argue about my panties. Since Mable was having a good look at my breasts, she might just as well have a good look at my pubic hair. I discarded thought of using the wall to try to hide parts of me. What was the use? I defiantly stood there facing this woman who I had always liked. I was panting, choking in pain and embarrassment. But agony did not prevent my, "Here I am, have a good look! Do you want me to spread my legs?"

"That would be nice, dear, please do."

I spread my legs, then used my free hand to clutch the chain by which I was forced to stand for this undesired inspection. In some other context this act of baring my body for her pleasure might have been meaningless and without a blush but now I longed to die.

The honorable Mable Wycherly put down the wrist-breaking device but slipped the loop of the crop over one wrist before coming close. "I want to kiss you, Angela," she said very simply. "Don't be silly, I've always loved you."

Her lips were hot and moist. In pain and despair, and much in need of comfort, I flung my arms around her shoulders and kissed back hungrily. In a minute I was fiercely rubbing my naked breasts against hers. I was a frightened little girl who needed mother's reassurance. Not that Mable was by any means maternal, but she was very, very female and in spite of the pain and shame it felt good to clutch at her in my nakedness. Her arms went around me, too, so I could feel the riding crop dangling loosely at my back. Our hands were groping as were our lips and we stood thus, thrusting hotly, and panting mouth to mouth for a long time. Despite the burn of the crop marks on my skin I felt better.

When Mable stepped back, I, unthinkingly, followed but only to have the chain snap my collar and neck back as though in silent admonition. I accepted the silent snub without a word and stepped back to relieve the tension on my throat, awaiting the next move in the most bizarre game I had ever played.

"It's not all bad, is it, Angela?"

"

"No." I tried to sound ungracious but failed.

"If you don't insist on fighting, I'll be very kind to you, dear."

"Mable, I don't understand any of this. Something's happening, let me in on it."

"I've taken possession of you. dear, that's all." Mable made it sound like buying a new dress. "I'll never give you a chance to get loose, so you can forget freedom. I'll do whatever is necessary to look after your private affairs while you are my prisoner."

She allowed her words to hang heavy on my consciousness. "But that could be a long, long time, darling. I play for keeps."

She could get away with it! The honorable Mable Wycherly could extract Miss Angela Maberly from the stream of life and divert me for her own enjoyment. I assured myself I would never let this planned enslavement succeed. Somewhere she would make a slip and I would get the best of her. I wondered if then I would have her arrested for kidnapping or simply extract some sort of humility she would hate to deliver. But for now Mable owned me, every little bit of me.

"You're mind's busy, isn't it, darling? Those lovely crop marks on your skin are still hurting, aren't they?" Mable's voice oozed concern. "I'd feel an absolute bitch over what I'm doing with you if I didn't desire you so much. It just takes a little time for you to understand. Don't leap to hasty judgments, Angela, my pet."

I didn't leap to anything, I couldn't. The sharp snug of the chain on my neck told me clearly the omega limits of my protest. I stood there glaring at this creature that held me prisoner while she snapped that Mexican wrist thing on my wrist and unlocked the padlock from my collar. The collar stayed and I suspected it would stay for quite a while. She then gave me a brief demonstration of Mexican cruelty to captives. It was just as well she did or I might have invited a broken wrist. Instead she simply exerted sideways pressure from the handle. I emitted a squeal and fell instantly to my knees. The damned thing had sharp edges and I instantly divined how little pressure it would take to break my wrist. The honorable Mable then turned the beastly thing in the opposite direction and I followed like an obedient puppy dog. There was no fighting it, the Mexican bracelet was frightening! Next there came an upward tug and I followed it to stand erect, shame faced, my wrist extended meekly. I was panting.

"Get the message, darling?"

"Yes. Please don't twist it again, Mable. Please... I won't give you cause." Thus I was led to Mable's bedroom. I'd been there before and supposed there was nothing new to see. But previously I had failed to note the rings. There were rings all over the place. With a second pair of handcuffs the honorable Mable Wycherly attached me to one of them and then removed the Mexican horror. I stood, secured my a single wrist, infuriating in its easy dominance.

"I'll freshen up, darling, and change my dress." Mable's easy tone left me unsure. This still could be one of Reggie Tufton's more elaborate jokes -- what he referred to as "pleasantries."

I stood, tense and vibrating, awaiting answers to questions I would not ask. It was a feminine intimacy with Mable doing the things all females do when there's a mirror around. She also changed her dress. She then picked up her handbag, kissed me, and departed. I stood naked in a suddenly empty room.

It took me a minute to realize she wasn't coming back. But I heard the front door open and close to tell me I now had my chance. A bracelet on one wrist surely could not prevail against a girl's strength, determination, and ingenuity. I tugged forcefully at my single bond but only hurt my wrist. I tugged harder. Nothing happened! I was only slightly dismayed, telling myself I should not expect my chain to break that easily. I bend down to examine it, I had never seen a handcuff before, certainly not up close. But what I saw was not reassuring, so far as my right hand was concerned, it was held fast. The chrome of the cuff laughed at me to say, that as far as it was concerned, I could stand there forever.

I remembered reading about bobby pins and handcuffs. But I didn't have any. I didn't have anything! There was a small table far beyond my reach and on it a number of items, one of which might be the key to my release. But the rug was heavy and could not be tugged. I had no sheet or even a dress with which to do some fly fishing to drag something in my direction. I had nothing! It took me no more than eighteen minutes to realize I would stand as I was until Mable choose to release me. I was as much her prisoner as if chained in the darkest dungeons. I swore and the silence absorbed my oaths like a sponge. I rattled my manacle and leaned back against the wall.

I held on to Reggie Tufton as a drowning person clutches at anything. This had to be a joke! This standing naked and unable to leave the wall was no doubt part of one of this "pleasantries." Probably he and Mable were laughing over my shame and frustration before she came back to set me free. It was the only comfort I had. As time passed I believed it less and less.

I expect a real convict girl locked in a real cell because of a real crime goes through all the emotions that kept me quivering like a leaf. The first of these was fear. Chained nakedness was not an easy thing to adjust to. The next thing was the loss of freedom and will. I was a nothing, just a pretty parcel of naked girl, checked against the wall as one might check luggage at a railway station. There was also the still smarting marks of that riding crop upon my skin. I wasn't sure of those, they might have been a necessary part of a charade, if indeed this was only that. Or they may have been the beginning of something else. Mixed up with all this was the memory of Mable's hot lips and the thrust of our bellies and loins... ! Surely that meant something. . . . Or did it!

I then considered my nakedness. Mable and I had not discussed it. I could only assume she wanted me naked to make me more submissive and easier to handle. Surely she could use her riding crop on me to far greater effect that if I was clothed. I realized this nakedness did strange things to me, like accenting my helplessness, but also adding the color of sexuality to everything done to me thus far. I could easily discern this sexual arousal remaining a part of whatever Mable did with me or to me. My loins flared at that single word, of what she might "do" to me. It left me with one more quiver to cope with.

I still refused to believe Mable's story about keeping me prisoner for a protracted length of time. Her possession of me had already gone beyond the bounds of one of Reggie's "pleasantries, " I had to suppose the Reggie or Mable had decided to go a step farther this time in whatever excitement they got out of scaring a girl to death. I couldn't see beyond that but, uncomfortably, I realized Mable might easily keep me for a week or so and there seemed little I could do about it. Disgustedly I looked at the bed which might as well have been in the wilds of Africa for all the good it did me. It was out of reach. Grudgingly I slithered to the rug, it would be less tiring than standing but it wasn't all that good because I had to hold my cuffed hand at a level above my head. It was simply the best I could do and my first glimpse at the compromises a captive girl had to make.

Mable took her time. It was dark before she returned and I'd been sort of nodding with my head against my raised arm. I'd twisted and tugged at it until my wrist was chaffed. Common sense told me I could not withdraw it through that metal but instinct said otherwise, instinct told me I had to try. Logic aside, I still found it hard to believe a shiny little handcuff could keep me against the wall to await Mable's pleasure. Had she bound and gagged me it would have made more sense and I would have accepted it more easily.

"The bathroom and something to eat, that's what you're wanting, isn't it, darling?" Mable was as bright and brisk as ever.

"I want to go home -- and that was horrible, leaving me here alone all that time. Mable, please let me go!"

I watched my ankles chained together by what Mable described as "leg irons." They looked like handcuffs but were larger. When the handcuff joining me to the wall ring was unlocked it was immediately relocked about my other wrist. I could move around but there was no way I could escape. Mable could control me with disgusting ease and she now had the riding crop hanging from a belt around her waist.

I tried not to look at it.

"A sensible girl, behaving much better now," Mable approved. "I expect you've had time to think. And handcuffs really do give a girl something to think about, don't they?" l refused to play. I simply said, "Mable, I want to go home, please free me. This farce is getting worse instead of better."

"Go on into the bathroom, dear, and don't do anything silly." About the only silly thing I could do in the bathroom, which incidentally was a Arabian Nights decorated room, was to break the window. I could probably have done it with one of the array of bottles and then screamed my head off through the broken glass. But I did not break the window, I was still trying to believe myself the victim of a joke in poor taste. My chains made a frightful clatter as I bathed and the leg irons prevented me from stepping in and out properly, I had to do a sort of twisting in and out while sitting down. When I walked back into Mable's bedroom, the damned chain snubbed every step I took. If I tried to hurry, I tripped and fell.

"You'll get used to them, darling," Mable assured. "They look so lovely on you. And so do the handcuffs. Come along, let's eat. I've brought back something from the delicatessen."

I now had to adapt myself to the graces of the dinning table with joined hands, where one reached out and the other followed. It was like doing everything twice. I was aware of Mable watching me and enjoying every fumble I made. I had to ask myself why I was not in raging hysterics, but remembered I had known the Honorable Mable most of my life and I'd been a guest in her house often enough. Take away the metal on my wrists and ankles and give me a dress and the scene would have been entirely normal. I ate and drank and listened.

"First off, I want you to understand I don't the least bit mind using a whip on you, darling." Mable speared an olive. "As a matter of fact, I rather enjoy whipping a girl. Whips and crops make the most gorgeous sound as they impact. It's sort of a cross between and thunk and a snap, there really isn't a word to describe it. If you weren't hurting so much at the time, you could listen and give me your opinion."

"Something for me to look forward to, I'm sure."

"I don't mind a few sarcasms, darling, but don't over do it. I'll make a few allowances because this is all new to you, but don't push your luck."

"Mable, I'm not interested in anything except being freed from these horrible things you've locked on my and getting back my clothes." My words were ignored.

"I'll keep you hear at Cobblestone Mews, darling, until I've got you really docile and obedient. I realize now, under those lovely breasts of yours, you're seething with resentment. And a determination to escape. You're also probably wondering what you'll tell the police." She smiled affectionately. "Forget it dear, and don't fret yourself about freedom."

The Honorable Mable held every advantage, I held none! It was easy for her to guess my every thought, she had only to put herself in my place to know what I would be thinking and feeling. I made my voice as stiff as starch and as cold as ice, "I hope you're enjoying yourself."

"After you're well trained dear, I'll take you down to Cranston. You've visited there often enough so I won't tell you about it. But there are a few things you haven't seen. Dungeons for instance. And there's a beautifully equipped torture chamber I call the playroom."

"You're being ridiculous, Mable. Torture chamber, my foot! I've never heard such nonsense."

I suppose one of the nice things about owning a captive girl is that you don't have to pay any attention to what she says. Mable ignored me.

"One of the good things about having you at Cranston," she went on, "is, my pet, there is so much more to do with you there. From now on you'll exist for my amusement. And, what with the old part of the castle, and the Park, you can imagine the possibilities. Here at the Mews we are sort of limited to the rings around the wall. My, you did chaff your wrist, didn't you."

She had me curious but if I asked questions that would seem as if I were weakening. Frigidly I retorted, "I suppose there's a pillory and a whipping post and a set of stocks," before remembering I had seen exactly those things on one of my visits. We spoke of them laughingly as relics of an ancient age but a memory lingered of holes for wrists and neck and ankles far smaller than was generally the case. Now I knew why! "Don't answer," I said hastily, "I'd rather not know."

"They're a bit old hat," Mable said easily. "But I'll lock you in them sometime just so you'll know what it's like." She almost giggled. "There's so much for a girl to learn at Cranston."

"Thanks, I've learned too much already. When do I go home?" Mable sipped an expensive vintage most people could not afford. "You'll stop talking about going home, the phase soon passed. I suppose you realize I will extract a tribute from you when I take you to bed?"

"You've gone to a hell of a lot of trouble just for that," I said testily. "Couldn't you have asked me sensibly in a civilized way instead of all this nonsense? I used to be fond of you."

"You're still fond of me, darling, even when I whip you really hard you'll still be fond of me. You won't think so at the time, but that's the way it is."

I shivered. Mable with a whip hanging from her belt and me naked! I'd had four cuts from the damned thing already but I realized they probably weren't anywhere near as hard as she could make them. Crossly, I asked, "Are you expecting to whip me into submission. Nibbling your puss isn't the end of the world, y'know, especially with a girl you've been fond of. All these irons and things aren't the least bit necessary."

Mable smiled a maternal smile. "Oh, I know all that, darling. I was just testing. I rather hoped you'd be angry and refuse. That way I'd have an excuse to whip you into obedience. But never mind, well have a lovely time anyway."

The way Mable said it, I could almost feel my skin being sliced as she used that riding crop on me. I cringed at the thought and protested, "Oh, Mable, you don't have to keep talking about the whip. And you don't have to keep wearing it where I can see it. I'll be sensible enough not to give you excused not to use it on me."

"But, darling!" Mable sounded shocked. "I love whipping you. If you refuse to give me an excuse, I'll invent one. You may as well make up your mind to an occasional whipping, it's one of the things you'll have to get used to. I know you'll hate it but you won't die and it won't do you the least bit of harm." She giggled, "It's probably good for your circulation."

I sniffed and left it at that. I could feel the invisible web of the Honorable Mable Wycherly closing in on me.

"You can do the dishes, darling, it's the maid's night out. Her name's Jessie and every time you ask her to help you escape, she'll report it to me and you'll be punished. Try to remember."

I did the dishes, mantled in shame and a blush I could not control.

I wondered if Reggie knew what Mable was doing to me. I took my short, hobbled steps with abundant caution and carried the trey in a dither of apprehension. Mable contented herself with watching and caustic comment. "Take shorter steps, darling, you're not going anywhere." Or the one about, "You'll bend over and touch you toes for five, darling, every time you break a dish. Let's call it our incentive program."

I survived the ordeal without a single stripe. I knew Mable was disappointed but I had a horror of that riding crop and concentrated every effort to stepping within the tolerance of my chain. One thing was for sure, chaffed ankles.

It appeared I was to share the bed of the Honorable Mable Wycherly.

I walked beside her in mute acceptance but not silently. The chain between my feet worked busily, singing its song of triumph over the maiden who wore it. Mable's remark was typical, "Isn't that the loveliest sound, dear. You'll be hearing a lot of it."

Naked, the Honorable Mable was a voluptuous dish. Making sure it was in clear view of my sight, she hung the riding crop from one of the posts of the four-poster and gave me the sweetest smile. "Just in case, darling, a mistress never knows her luck."

I suppose that was how she saw herself, my mistress. I was not prepared to argue her that conceit. Already padlocked somewhere out of sight was a longer chain than that which had chained me to the wall. When it was padlocked on my collar, I was about as much a prisoner as a girl could ever be. Darling Mable lay upon her back, spread her legs wide apart to reveal the plumpest and most perfumed of pussies. "You know what to do, darling, get with it."

I looked down at the plump labia my lips must lave and my tongue probe. Its scent wafted to make my nostrils flare in female response to potent flesh. Positioning my near helplessness between the hungry thighs I sought my task, resting my chained hands upon the hot belly above my buried face. I nibbled greedily as though it were a privilege. That was the beginning.

CHAPTER TWO - I LEARN

My captivity at Cobblestone Mews was pure delight--for Mable, but not for me. For me it was an endless boredom interspersed with vivid shames and humiliation. There was also the whip and the riding crop. The Honorable Mable used both upon me with exquisite happiness, a happiness I did not share. The shocks Cobblestone Mews inflicted upon me were cleverly spaced wide apart to keep me always unaware but in vivid apprehension. For the most part I was simply moved from ring to ring where I sat or stood in dull despair to await the next chapter in the story which Mable wore .and I endured. After the first week I no longer kidded myself that this was one of Reggie's "pleasantries." The Honorable Mable was going to steal a part, if not all, of my life and all she wanted me for was a plaything in bed, a handy package of naked girl kept well secured in convenient places for her amusement.

It was inevitable I revolt. In assessing my chances I reached the conclusion my best bet would be one of those occasions where I was totally free except for the leg irons. Mable was pretty well convinced that the leg irons and her riding crop would keep me in line and defeat any fight I might put up. But the leg irons gave me a tantalizing and misleading sense of freedom. My first opportunity when she ironed me in that fashion to take me to dinner. I pounced on her like a hungry lion.

Darling Mable was caught unawares, I had my forearm thrust against her throat and a firm grip on one of her hands which I twisted up behind her back. For the first ten seconds I was doing fine and wondering if I would have to knock her senseless to find the key. But Mable rallied her forces and stamped hard on my foot with the spiked heel of her shoes, first one then the other. The agony was so great it made me loose my hold and enabled Mable to bring into play some of those karate tricks she had often hinted about. A minute later I was flat on my face on the rug with Mable's knee pressing hard against my spine and one of my own hands twisted up my back as I had tried to twist hers. Along with this was the truly terrible pain where her heels had found my feet.

I was positive bones were broken and I was suddenly sobbing in bitter defeat on Mable's carpet.

"Had enough, darling?"

"Yes... Oh, yes! Oh, Mable, stop doing that to my ami... Please stop. And I think you've broken my feet."

"Put your other hand behind your back, darling."

The familiar bit of the handcuff announced my defeat and surrender, I was hurting so bad there was no fight left in me. Mable locked one of my wrists tight and then dragged me to the wall where it was clicked to one of the rings forever waiting. She backed up to survey with satisfaction the saddest and sorriest of captive girls as I used my one free hand to tenderly explore the broken skin and awful agony of my feet. I had remained leg-ironed throughout the battle.

Mable wasted few words but those she used were potent. "You've earned this, darling. You're welcome to scream all you like."

It was the whip, not the crop. I was crotched against the wall, one hand manacled above my head, my feet joined, but otherwise in relative freedom. Mable slashed away at me as though she was beating the dust from a carpet. She cared not where she struck, but seemed to prefer my more intimate portions to the conventional back and bottom. After a series of frightening cuts between my thighs, across my belly, and across my breasts, I knelt and thrust my nakedness hard against the wall to present only those portions of myself best able to bear the whip. Someone said that a girl's body and back were well designed by nature for the rod and thong. I won't dispute it, all I knew was that I wanted to put my breasts and pussy into such safety as my single bond permitted. Quite unconcerned, Mable lashed away at what I offered with tremendous gusto while I screamed and screamed and screamed and tried to bury my face in the one hand left to me. After an eternity of pain, my one time friend stopped whipping me to stand, panting hard, and ask, "Had enough, darling? I'd love to give you more."

"I've had enough." I spoke the words in a pitiful sob.

"Are you going to jump me again, darling?"

"No. Not ever!" I meant it.

I could imagine how pitiful I looked, kneeling there naked and chained to the wall. I just couldn't stop the heaving sobs fighting at my breasts. I was a remorseful little girl who was by no means sure her punishment was over. I was promising myself inwardly that I would never try such a trick again. Quite suddenly the impossible happened. With surprising strength, Mable positioned me over an ottoman she dragged up for the purpose and, leaving my hand cuffed to the wall, spread my legs wide apart and buried her face between my thighs. Shock made me silent. In a few seconds I would not have moved even if I could. The pent up floods of frustration and urgency swept me into orgasm after orgasm beneath the skillful mouth of a woman all too wise. When I had screamed my last climax the ottoman was thrust away and I was embraced in loving arms and kissed and kissed. I kissed back hard, my one free arm reaching to clasp a woman's body, suddenly dear to me. Mable wept, too, and our tears mingled on our cheeks. After an eternity all too short I found myself alone still with one wrists manacled to the wall. My feet throbbed cruelly. They were not broken.

It had been the most vivid tumult of emotions I had ever felt up to that time in my life, I had been whipped and loved in the strangest union of emotions imaginable. I crotched there, a naked, well whipped girl, and pondered the unanswerable facts of a new existence. I was no longer Miss Angela Maberly, I was Mable's slave. At that moment I wanted only to obey.

It did not last, of course. Nothing lasts the way we think it will. We endlessly delude ourselves. At the moment of Mable's leaving me, it was certain I would never again feel anger or know loneliness when she chained me as pleased, or in those brief, fierce moments when I was whipped. I promised myself I would stop dreaming and embrace my captive state with whatever gratitude I could muster. I would keep Mable's love for me alive.

Euphoria lasted a day or two in which I nursed hurt feet and wealed skin. Both made me hot between my thighs in a way I would never have dreamed. Girls are strange creatures and I was learning fast. I wondered if Mable had ever been whipped, I cherished beautiful fantasies of her nakedness tightly secured while I marked it with a thong which sliced the air and cut at her in vicious joy. But that's all it was, a dream. By the third day I was once more alert to possibilities with escape an ever present purpose in my mind.