F Campbell - Chain of Jedrah

Could she . . . !

“And so, my Stacie has not died!” The youthful torturess easily divined the progression of her victim’s chaotic emotions.

The naked girl tried a feeble smile without much success.

She was almost afraid to speak for fear of pain. She managed only the obvious. “Please let me down.”

“It is not yet time, but you may ask.”

Hope died in bitter disappointment, an overwhelming desolation that she was not to be freed. “How long?” she whispered pitifully, “How long . . . ?”

“I will not tell you,” Rannah said comfortably. “It is best that you do not know how long you have been thus or how much longer you must stay as you are. It is very painful, is it not?”

“Will it always be as bad?”

“As bad or worse. There is nothing that cannot be worse, Stacie.” Rannah laughed without malice. “I could light a small fire beneath your feet.”

“Kill me.”

“Don’t be silly. You are being dramatic for my benefit. You have no wish to die. If I produced a knife or gun you would be horrified.”

“Then let me down, give me a rest . . . for just a little while.”

“It would be much worse when I lifted you again, no kindness at all.”

“Yes it would! Oh please . . . !”

“You see! It is as I said. Much better you are alone. When I am here you see hope that is not there. You plead and I cannot listen. It is best I go.”

“No don’t!” The words had a sudden explosive vehemence.

“Don’t leave me, not yet. If you don’t want me to plead, then I won’t. I’ll behave. I . . . I need you. Oh Rannah . . . I”

The dark eyes became misty, they searched the punished nudity in sadness. “I will stay a little while, Stacie. I wish you did not hang like that. It is a will beyond mine.”

It was in the mind of the bound girl to retort: “Then set me free.” But she sensed the other girl’s distress and held her tongue. The thread between them was still tenuous, she would treasure it. Instead, she said wanly: “Thank you for coming . . . thank you.”

Even the silence was comforting. Rannah was there! A strange and enigmatic girl, but female and of her age. Strength flowed between them, and something else . . . ! The hurt captive wished the dark eyes would watch her always. It was Rannah who broke the silence.

“This is the first day of your torture. Tell me, when next you are free of bonds will you not wish to fight or to flee? You will not yield to me as you have done . . . ?”

“I will. Oh, I will!” Again the vehemence. Stacie herself could not explain it. “I won’t fight you, Rannah.”

“But you would fight Yousef?”

“I . . . I suppose so, yes. It would do me no good, but I would fight him.”

“Because he is a man!”

“Of course!” The captive’s words were purely instinctive. Born of an emotion she did not yet understand.

“Are you passive to me because you wish no bonds?” Again a purely instinctive response.

“No! Oh, Rannah, it isn’t that at all. I . . . I’m happy when I’m with you, I don’t want to . . . make a fuss.” Stacie gaspingly absorbed pain. “But I wish you would always keep me chained or tied. In some small way so I can’t be silly and so you don’t have to keep an eye on my. Don’t you have a pair of handcuffs . . . ? Something simple. Something that won’t hurt but will make me helpless?”

The Arab girl laughed in gaiety at the ingenious request.

“I do not have such things, but I can get them. You must have enjoyed those that held you in the van the day I brought you here?”

“I hated them that day. But they are simple, and if I don’t struggle they won’t hurt.”

“I could put them on you very tight!”

“I don’t care! It’s a sensible idea.”

“You are quite incredible!”

“No, I’m just being sensible. Oh, Rannah, how much longer have I got to hang like this?”

But Rannah was gone.

When, after the passage of centuries, the rope slackened and allowed the tired feet to find the floor Stacie slumped helplessly into a tightly tied package upon the stone. She could not move, but lay there giving little moans of thankfulness and pain, moans that intensified into a crescendo when Rannah gently withdrew the rod and loosed the cord bisecting the swollen sex. Even then she lay still unable to move her tortured arms. She was as helpless as though still tied.

“They won’t work. My arms . . . I can’t move them.” She lay on her back and looked up piteously at the girl who controlled her.

Rannah smiled."They did not like what I did to them. But come, I will help you. In an hour the little arms will begin to like me again.”

Stacie would always remember the firm and gentle hands that rubbed away her pain and brought her arms back to life, a life she believed lost forever. She lay upon the bed of the girl who had tortured her, and was massaged with love, later her sweat-stained body was bathed and restored to beauty.

“Why do you clothe me, Rannah?”

“I do not clothe you much, slave girl. Only enough that when you must strip each day you will know fear. I find those small pretty things upon your breasts and round your hips evocative.”

“I would have thought it convenient to keep me naked.”

“True, but there are other things besides convenience. You arc quite impossible. You surprise me as much as I strive to surprise you. I suspect you have come by some erotic wish to be made naked. The thought would have horrified you a week ago. Has it to do with me?”

“I can’t explain it. I’m half ashamed. But there it is.”

“Do you like nudity when I torture you?”

Stacie shrugged her puzzlement. “I don’t even think about it then, it seems so natural after that first moment you have spoken of.”

“There are some tortures in which I could leave much of you clothed. Would you not prefer that?”

The captive considered the offer. “I don’t think so. I think I’d feel silly as well as hurt.”

“Ah, but supposing the one torturing you was Yousef?”

“Even there, during the actual time I was being hurt, I can only see myself as naked. I must be naturally wanton.”

They shared laughter. “We women are absurd, Stacie. We do not know ourselves. It is one of the reasons men control us so easily. I too am often shocked at things I think or wish or do. When first I beheld those four shivering maidens by the plane I thought I hated you. Look at me now! I cannot even toss you in a cell.”

“But you torture me!”

“Don’t dwell on that. It is apart, a duty to perform.”

“Mohammad Yasin told me I was not a slave, but you just called me ‘slave girl’ . . . ?”

The dark eyes dwelt amusedly upon their captive. “I can’t tell you that either. The words slipped out without thought. I think I will use them, you have a quality. They fit. You may not be slave to our Master, but I can certainly make you mine.”

Stacie savoured the words upon her tongue: ‘slave girl’! They sent a delicious thrill trilling up her spine. Rannah’s slave! She closed her mind to guilt and a sense of the ridiculous. If being called slave girl gave her a good feeling, so be it! She raised mischievous eyes. “What should I call you?”

“You will call me Rannah. I am not as silly as you.” Seeing a flicker of disappointment in the young eyes, she added:

“When I am angry or you have misbehaved you can call me My Lady. There is a Jedrah term, but that is the best translation I can make.”

“Not Mistress?”

Rannah grimaced. “It’s threadbare. Besides, it makes me seem a spinster in gown and mortar-board. I went to school in England.”

“Yes My Lady.” Stacie gave it everything she had.