F Campbell - Golden Wrists

“But if Hugo gets me off this island and back to New York, Uncle Andrew will just have me kidnapped again, or give me another of those propositions where I can come quietly or else. I won’t come here quietly again, I just won’t! Oh, Constance, you’re being so kind.”

“I really don’t know about him kidnapping you again,” Constance admitted slowly. “I do know you’ve got under his skin some way, quite probably no more than some minor thing you’ve done. Or it could just be he likes the idea of having a lady lawyer naked and handcuffed for his amusement. I wouldn’t worry too much about it, dear, because I’ve seen him interested in a lot of girls he soon forgets. Usually he sends them away with a nice check. I don’t know why he sent the two of us here, but I suppose it’s some sort of fantasy he has. If Mr. Markham comes to rescue you, you’d better run and don’t stop until you’re far away from here.”

“You can count on it. But, in the meantime, you sure you can’t let me out of this beastly contraption?”

“It wouldn’t be wise, dear. You can put up with it for a few hours. Look, Miss Durrant, it’s time I was back at the house. And, anyway, you’re supposed to be left alone. And try to stop worrying.” She kissed me gently and vanished beyond my range of vision.

Solitude returned like an ancient enemy. Once more I went through the fruitless exercises of looking at my hands, trying to twist my neck against the hard wood, and gazing as best I could at my limited view. It was a delightful view I was in no condition to enjoy. I kicked one chained foot fretfully against the other, and relapsed into a state of helplessness.

It may have been an hour or perhaps two before I heard the sounds to send shivers up and down my spine. Someone was coming, someone I could not see, but someone I instinctively felt would bring me no good. The steps were bold, there was nothing small about them. When I knew their owner was standing close behind my pilloried nakedness, I had no time to ask a question before my head and shoulders were enveloped in a sizable square of cloth. Even though it failed to blind me totally, it did prevent me from seeing what now took place. There came the unmistakable fitting of the key in the padlock, followed immediately by the lifting of the heavy metal hasp. Still in sinister silence, the cloth was whisked away by a hand behind my back to leave me blinding in amazement and hear running footsteps retreating. I stood tense and waiting and not instantly aware of possibilities.

It was a breathless moment when I tried to move but felt defeat when my tugs and twistings discovered the pillory as solid as ever. It was another minute before I realized that I had pulled instead of lifting. It was not easy pushing the heavy wood upward with the backs of my wrists but I managed to lift it far enough to get one hand turned around. Then it was easy to lift it the rest of the way and find myself standing there, arms and head completely free.

I didn’t run, my feet were still chained, and, anyway, there was nothing from which to flee. I stood there, happily rubbing wrists and neck, and examining the ridiculously large lock in which some friendly hand had turned the key - or was it a friendly hand! Enveloped in a joyous feeling of relief and release, I clinked my shackled steps to the bit of wood on which Constance had sat while we talked. I sat there too.

I had hands and arms and about half use of my feet. But even though almost physically free, my mind was a turmoil of confusion. Not so much over who had set me free, but why? And what to do now? I was still a prisoner on the island, and any exploration I was to do would have to be done with short steps. Chained feet prevented me swimming and the obvious thing to do was to make my way back to the lovely old house, which for me had not been lovely at all. Whenever I thought of it, I saw only that damned dungeon and those beastly chains. I might be driven there eventually by the need for food, but until that time I would explore the shoreline in the hope of finding some sort of boat, even a rowboat. Or perhaps waving at any vessel that should venture close enough to see. If someone on the island was watching and laughing at my plight, they were welcome to look. I had little doubt I was the focus of an experiment, but with a tremendous sense of adventure, I rose and kicked angrily at my chain.

It was not the first time I had walked with shackled feet, but I had ever become used to it. At least I did not fall on my face. Resigned to my metallic handicap, I clinked my way towards the sea.

It was very beautiful but very hopeless. I actually discovered a small jetty to which was attached a motorboat. Unfortunately the boat was attached to the dock with heavy chains and padlocks, no doubt placed there for the express purpose of preventing just what I was planning.

I may not have been able to use the boat to escape, but exploring the cabin brought to me a small fridge in which I found a couple of sandwiches and a chunk of cake. I devoured them hungrily. Feeling better, I continued on my search.

It was quite useless. I found no rowboat, nor were there any craft out on the ocean. When night came I still feared a return to the big house and consigned myself to sleep beneath a bush. In the morning, while I was still rubbing the sleep from my eyes, the awfulness happened. Something was thrown over my head and shoulders by an unseen hand. It’s drawstring was drawn tight while someone thrust me to the ground, knelt on my back, and proceeded to bind my hands and arms. My wrists were crossed and corded tight in a manner I knew all too well. This done, and with me floundering helplessly, swift fingers unlocked the fetters from my feet. I was hauled erect and strong hands propelled me forward toward a blind destination I could not guess.

The whole thing had been done in silence. Now, as I was forced to walk to an unknown fate, I pleaded and questioned to no avail. By the sound of the ocean I assumed I was being taken to a boat. Hot sand under my feet told me we were walking over a sandy beach. We stopped within the sound of surf while hard male hands positioned me to some sort of male pleasure. Suddenly my ankles were looped with rope.

I couldn’t do a thing except complain and question and twist against bound wrists. The cording of my ankles had been swift and deadly. They were tied to something that was solid and unmoving, about a foot apart. Hands steadied me as I teetered in this new bondage. Then, with me standing helpless, those hands explored my breasts, finally moving down to take possession of my defenseless sex. This male mauling was of short duration in what I had to suppose was carnal enjoyment of my charms. Suddenly the hands were gone and I heard the sounds of feet running back towards the island. I stood alone.

It was strange and frightening to stand as I now stood and wonder what came next. It was almost a minute before I realized the drawstring of the blindfold was loose and it took me another couple of minutes of tossing and twisting my head to get rid of the bag. Blinking in the brilliance of a sunlit stretch of sand, I looked down to where my ankles were tied tight to an ancient rusted anchor no one had found interesting enough to haul away. It weighed a ton and held me as firmly as it might once have held a ship. I twisted tied wrists but soon gave that up as hopeless and took a wider view of my surrounding.

I was tethered on one of several such beaches on San Jancith.

No human being was in sight, and I scanned the tree line in a certain conviction that someone was watching. No doubt my behavior in this bound solitude would prove of interest to a watcher I could not see. Since I was evidently here to stay for a while, I gauged the possibilities of sitting down but was frightened to take the chance for fear of breaking an ankle or being unable to get back on my feet. The safest thing was to stand and become a well behaved but tired little girl. I guessed that was the purpose of the exercise, but my guess was wrong.