Hans Meijer - The slave girl

Again, his grave attention. "Hurt bad?"

"Yes, Master. All you need to do is tie my wrists crossed in front and tie them down to the saddle. I can't do a thing. I can ride, I can use the stirrups. My ankles are all cut, they don't need to be tied under the horse." She gave him her best pathetic look. "And I promise I won't speak when we pass anyone…" As a sweetener, she added: "You can whip me terribly if I don't behave."

Effayd considered, point by point, then nodded. A few minutes later Audrey sat her horse as a rider should. Her crossed wrists were tied where she suggested. It was very practical. As an additional precaution he sternly caught her eye. "I whip to cut your skin!"

"Thank you, Master."

They rode hard and fast all day.

At dusk, after she returned from behind a bush and was still free, her escort enquired blandly: "You would like me to fuck you?" It was a question slavegirls were well attuned to. Audrey knew it well. It was often followed by the casual but pregnant suggestion Effayd now employed. "Of course, if you would prefer to be well whipped…?"

"Thank you, Master. Please fuck me."

In a scale of one to ten, Effayd ranked no more than six. But she had made him happy. He had been kind. He was kind now.

"Is better way to tie for night."

Audrey wanted to please him. Obediently, she stood with her back pressed against a tree's slender trunk. She was always a little breathless at such times. She was breathless now as her arms were drawn back and her wrists crossed and bound. Effayd took much trouble with her wrists. A care and caution she could understand, but counted herself fortunate.

"There! Is nice tie!"

It was certainly simple. She could not leave the tree, her arms embraced it behind her back. From the feel of her wrists she knew they would stay tied. "Thank you, Master. But for the night: must I stand?"

"You silly girl! You sit. You sit now."

Silly indeed! Cautiously, she edged down. But her feet were free and made the change, if not easy, at least possible. With her back resting against the trunk she smiled up into his earnest regard. "Yes, it's good. And I won't be able to get loose."

"Now you stand again."

It took a lot of wriggling and heaving but she managed. Standing as he had tied her, she smiled gratefully. Effayd was satisfied. He nodded, pleased. Then went to seek his rest. After a few minutes of sampling her new captivity Audrey did the same. Wryly, she named her awkward descent to the ground as going downstairs. She slept.

When she woke in early light, Effayd and the horses had departed in the night.

It took Audrey Cotswold a little while to reach fear. Being bound or chained was now her natural lot. It was commonplace. A girl just put up with it. But being abandoned in an African wilderness, attached securely to a tree, was something else again. She called out several times but was mocked by silence. When panic loomed she fought it down. Pushing herself erect, she considered waiting and hoping, or starting now to strive to free her hands. She did not believe she could. To seriously try meant chafed cut skin and pain, and was unlikely to accomplish anything. Audrey was a good judge of bounds. In a scale of one to ten the cords on her wrists would merit top score. She decided to wait in the hope of Effayd's return. When, after a long time, it became evident she was on her own, she fought her fight with her single bond. She fought it with all her strength and in mounting panic. Finally her wounded wrists demanded she desist. In defeat, she knew she had not loosed a single cord. She was as tightly tied as she had been the night before.

In frustration she wept. It was too cruel to be held by so small a length of rope. But she was as helpless as if heavily chained. Around her the African day responded to the sun. There were sounds. Unhappily, she wondered about animals and snakes. They did not invade a camp. But a single naked girl tied to a tree was almost bait for a carnivore…! Her heart contracted. She remembered reading of just exactly that: A delinquent damsel staked out to lure a tiger. She supposed that here it would be a jackal or a lion… she had heard of other animals she could not name.

She considered returning down to sit. Effayd had been considerate in that! But she was frightened. Somehow it felt safer on her feet. She was defenseless either way, but standing she could see the path. If someone passed she could call for help. But that would invite rape or another slavery…! By afternoon she was in despair…

She would stay there, naked, with her hands tied behind the tree until she died.

Why?

Corey Gibson was happy. She was where she had asked to be, chained neck and wrist within a coffle of twenty female slaves. She paced the miles, light footed and alert, her mind busy with plans. At the end of the coffle's journey she would not be sold. Her Master would keep her for his own. It was a miracle! What he would do with her, neither of them knew. Her suggestions had been erotically stimulating for both, but they had about them much of the roseate exuberances of an infatuated teen-ager. Miss Corey Gibson, the daughter of The Planet Corporation, was deeply and romantically in love. But Corey Gibson was female. Rooted within the female is an instinct for a home, a family and friends. For one of the richest and most beautiful girl in the world there were other enticements from which slavery had divorced her utterly, but which now surfaced with surprising allure. She would not dare mention them to Seth Burdett… not now! But there would come an opportunity…! For the present, she adored the shackle on her wrist and the metal collar on her neck. She fingered them often.

She supposed Seth Burdett had seen it in her eyes, or the jaunty toss of her head as she walked. That evening he took her once more into the trees. In their brief walk to seclusion he allowed her freedom. It did not last. Satisfied with a small clearing, he demanded: "Give me your hands." Quivering with the joy of being alone with him, Miss Corey Gibson surrendered to the breathtaking sensuousness of watching the rope prison her wrists. She wanted embraces and declarations but would settle for simple sex. Ingenuously, she declared: "I love you, Master."

He was always unpredictable, her hold on him tenuous, not yet cemented. Tersely, he told her: "Kneel, Face me."

Corey obeyed, her sex heating, adoring his dominance. Her ambitions were still distant. For now, she wanted only to wallow in submission. She was well aware of being slave to the tumescent glands demanding his seed within her womb. But there was more to Seth Burdett than that. To explore that unknown quantity behind his steely eyes would cost her physical pain. But that too was a price she longed to pay. Her demure: "Yes, Master." was almost too perfect. Sitting back on her heels, she allowed her bound hands to rest on her pubic triangle.

"Not that way! I don't want you comfortable. Kneel upright."

It was going to be wonderful! Corey knew it was. Her Master was in a mood. He would certainly hurt her. She braced herself for feminine dissembling. "We didn't talk enough, love. Your eyes are too starry."

"As you whip me they will become as you desire, Master."

"Who said I'd whip you, Corey? You want it, don't you?"

"I want whatever is a part of you."

He sighed. "Look, you silly bitch, you're going through a stage you should have outgrown. You want my whip, you want my cock, you're plotting to make me a possession."

"I'm chained on a coffle, Master, I can't plot anything."

"Come off it! I'll tell you what you're plotting. It's me in a Homburg hat from nine to five, the posh apartment above Central Park, and the place at Cape Cod?"

He was been right in making her kneel this way. Corey felt defenseless and exposed. There was no really good place to put her tied hands, they were as de trop as an adolescent boy's. "I can't help being rich."She said plaintively. "I've asked you to keep me in Africa in chains, isn't that enough?"