F. Campbell - Slave Girl and the lash

"They've been on our tail all the way," James told me grimly. "I used this little beetle to be unobtrusive, but it won't shake what they're driving." The sleep had done me good. But now, rested, I was again vividly aware of being in the middle of something big and menacing. The revolver in James lap was frightening. "What do they want?" I asked, as if I did not know!

"You."

"Have you got another gun?" I asked boldly. It evoked the amusement most of my remarks seem to make. "You're handcuffed, Phemie. But, no, I don't have one. Never expected this wild west chase."

"Where are you taking me?"

"I was taking you to one of Bolling's country places." His use of the past tense was grim. My next question was cut short by a bullet through our roof. James twisted the wheel so that we dived into a gateway. Leaning through his window he fired again and again at a target down the road. There was a metallic jumble of sounds that ended by a number of spaced shots under which our small car actually flinched. Its motor coughed and died.

"Damn!" said James. "This way, Phemie." I knelt with him behind the bush. I was shivering with cold and fear. My owner endeared himself to me forever by clasping the rug around me from front to back and thrusting its 'loose ends into my captive hands. "Hold on to it, sweetheart," he whispered. "It's all you've got." Without pause he reloaded his empty gun. I'm so used to handcuffs that getting a firm grip on my only protection against the night was not too hard. It never occurred to me that James could use his key and give me my arms back. I made myself as small a bundle as possible in the dark. I have read a lot of books. Sometimes when Yola had me chained in the dungeon she would let me read. Always when perusing the adventures of Bill or Suzy I resented the descriptive passages that really didn't matter. I've already said this about telling of being whipped. The thrilling chase is only motion that gets the characters from point A to point B. So I'm going to absolve you from following James and me from bush to bush and tree to tree. Somewhere along the way we lost the two bloodhounds; that was what really counted! The only trouble was that, arriving at point B we found ourselves on a dismal stretch of moor with only an occasional copse of sad little trees and a few sheep. By then it was daylight.

"This is ridiculous!" James's boyish grin was troubled. When he turned it on me there was a touch of apology. "I can't shoot the bastards except as a last resort, but they can shoot us to their heart's content," he complained morosely. "Anyway, they're gone. They'll be trying to guess where we'll head for."

"All we need is a telephone," I contributed brightly. "Right, sweetheart. Point one out please." Having James beside me was keeping my fire nicely smoldering and making my spirits more ebullient than any girls would normally be in the circumstances. "I can't," I said with pixie humor. "I'm handcuffed." James ignored the hint. "I can't point one out either. We have a long walk ahead. Damn!"

"Where is Roland Bolling's place from here?"

"Too far, damn it. Besides, that's where they'll be watching for us. A phone's the thing."

"I don't mind walking."

"You're a remarkable girl, Phemie."

"Slave girls have to be, y'know. What are my master's wishes?"

"To get you somewhere safe." He dropped his preoccupation with our plight, and gave me his full attention. A moment later I was enfolded in his arms. Striving to embrace him my chained hands loosened their hold on the rug. Straining futilely against my handcuffs I kissed him as hard and as long as he kissed me. I forgot all about whatever injury he had done Yolanda and me, and remembered only that he had saved my life. When I've stood apart, breathless, the rug slithered to the ground leaving me as bare as I usually am.

"Don't bother," I told him when he stooped to pick it up. "Gosh, you're lovely!" It was as though he saw my nakedness for the first time. The heat between my legs scorched me with a fierce new intensity. "That coppice on the slope over there isn't far. Among the trees no one could see us," I suggested demurely. James took me by the arm. Neither of us said a word. The cluster of stunted trees was a sweet little sanctuary. He laid the rug on the fir cones for me to lie on. I had to position myself with one arm beneath my back on account of my hands being joined, but I scarcely noticed the discomfort. James did not notice it either. He was enraptured with my breasts and my puss… and the rest of me. I didn't tell him it was the first time with a man. I was in too much of a dither of golden emotion to either think or speak. But, wickedly, I spread my legs as far as they would go while he undressed. Naked he was impressive. I glowed. It was a lovely honeymoon. We stayed in the shelter of the trees for hours and hours, endlessly making love. I was beautifully mauled and bitten and kissed as well as being royally — I won't use that four letter word, it's not good enough! Not having any arms didn't matter. In a way it made the whole thing more real for me: a slave girl being ravished by her lord. I adored every moment and was shamelessly unfaithful to darling Yolanda. It was not until late afternoon that we woke up to the demands of hunger. Our council of war was short and decisive.

"I'm not going to take you back to Bolling," James said flatly, biting my left nipple. I didn't care where he took me as long as he did not leave me alone again. "Where are you taking me then?" I asked absently, not wanting to lose his lips and teeth.

"Castle Glynt." I sat up and took notice.

"It's not that far from here, and those gun happy bastards won't be expecting us there."

"But Bolling?" I looked at James in wonder, "Your job. Don't you have to take me back to him if you can?" His boy's grin was a trifle wry. "O.K. Phemie, as of now I'm unemployed."

"Because of what… we've done today?" He shrugged. "Male and female always end up doing what we've done." His smile to me was half apology. "But I've felt a bastard about you right along. At the start I hadn't realized what you are."

"What am I?"

"I've been telling you what you are all day. Do I have to say it again in poetry?"

"That would be nice. Please start."

"You are outrageous, you are sweet, you are a slave girl beyond any man's wildest dreams. That hundred thousand pounds confirms what I say now: You're real. That's the miracle of you, you actually exist."

"You mean because I have a wicked enjoyment in getting my bottom whipped or having my hands tied?"

"O.K. But show me another girl…" I did not want to show him another girl, the heat between my legs warned me not to. He was mine! Or I was his! To a slave girl the distinction does not matter. If I hadn't been so hungry I'd have wanted to stay in that coppice with James forever. "Would you like me to lie down and open my legs again?" I asked pertly. It seemed, right then, the most sensible question to ask.

"A remark like that deserves about six on your bottom just on general principles." He made a grimace at me, then turned sober. "Look, darling Phemie, we're still in trouble. Castle Glynt is a fairish hike. We'd best get going now it's twilight. If a telephone shows up between here and there we'll use it." I was troubled. You can imagine my roseate emotional dither. But I had seen enough of the forces and the power determined to possess me. What was going to happen to James if he betrayed what, to a man like Bolling, would be a sacred trust. I suddenly seemed absurdly unimportant measured against the rest of James Pollard's life.

"Darling, I think you should deliver me back to Bolling." I looked at him levelly and with love. "Don't invite… well… whatever he'll do."

"No more torture for you, sweetheart."

"But that was those… those… bandits. What they did to me is not what Bolling would do, is it?"