“O.K., O.K., I just thought—well, anyway, I suppose my life’s been a bit different. I never was a strictly good girl.”
Trudy pondered. “There’s something between you: I know there is! Something’s going on, and you’re a part of it. Something’s going to happen to us?”
“Well, I suppose so.” Caroline surveyed her younger companion sympathetically. “But don’t let’s get bothered. C’mon, sit down. Don’t let our audience think we’re having an argument. You’re bored and feel slighted, so how about . . . ? Oh damn! I’ve been meaning to ask you but you’re so British. Ever tried the lesbian thing?”
“I’m not all that naive,” Trudy pouted. “I’d love to, you’re a darling. But in a cage, and chained! And surrounded by dirty old men in nightshirts . . . ?”
“Sometimes when I wake at night there’s not a soul in sight.”
“W-E-L-L-oh, darling . . .” She shook her head in sorrow. “Don’t you know . . . ? About Mohammedans? Your Khalief’s a Mohammedan. They do the most awful things to a lesbian. If they catch two girls—doing it, they . . . they mutilate them terribly and mete out the most shocking punishments.”
“No, really! Oh damn! Darling, I’d take a chance, but I don’t want you—oh shit!”
That night, consumed by a desperate feminine longing, they made their love. Their chains were a nuisance but stopped nothing. They did not perceive the watcher in the shadows who beheld their act. They heard nothing of the witness until another time.
“Damn smart, don’t you think?” Rulua visibly preened. “We got new outfits for the whole troop: just arrived yesterday.”
Two bored captives clutched the bars of their cage and examined their Mistress with a new and amused interest. Rulua had become resplendently military. The uniform and the woman who wore it was an eye catcher by any standard anywhere. She carried a swagger stick, imparting to the ensemble an impeccably British tone.
“It’s the President’s female Guard. Twenty of Zindawba’s finest. Care to join?”
“But, Rulua, when did this happen?”
“Only last week. I’ve been promoted to Captain. It was the President’s idea. He thinks it’s another bit of good publicity for Zindawba: Woman’s Lib . . . emancipation. He’s had a British sergeant drilling the girls for the last few days. They’ve become an absolute precision Squad.”
“Oh, Rulua, what fun! You look absolutely stunning.”
“Thank you. The girls are even better—more sexy. Abhad designed their uniforms himself. They’re about half skin. But the Captain has to have dignity, so bare knees and a braless bust is as close to comfort as I’m likely to get. Unless I’m doling out discipline. Then I can strip to the waist.”
“Discipline?” The two captives put a wealth of feeling into the exclamation.
“Of course, discipline! You’ve heard the old military expression: ‘Whipping ’em into shape’, it’s literally true. Saves a lot of talk and drawing charts on blackboards.”
The chained girls exchanged an amused glance: They would not be recruits!
“I’ve got nineteen girls.” She pointed the swagger stick at Trudy. “You’re number twenty.”
It was like a blow, a premonition proven. Trudy gazed askance through the bars and blurted out the most obvious impediment. “But—but, I wouldn’t be any good! I’m—I’m—!”
“White!” The newly created Captain chuckled. “Don’t give it a thought. You won’t be alone, there’s two others.”
“But how did they come to join?”
“Simple! They didn’t want their bottoms striped.”
“You mean that if I—?”
“Exactly, dear! If you insist on argument I’ll whip your bottom, and a few other spots, until you decide you’d like to be a recruit.”
“That’s plain coercion!”
“We call it the new patriotism, dear.”
Trudy examined her dilemma. At least, with Rulua, there was no hypocrisy, and she had a sense of humour. But she was dedicated steel. The bemused captive clutched at straws. “But with us two the troop will be twenty-one?”
“Mrs. Dowling is not invited to join. She has other ways in which to prove her loyalty.”
Trudy bit back the catty response of: ‘Yes, in bed!’, but allowed prudence to govern her tongue. Instead, she enunciated firmly: “If Caroline doesn’t go, then I won’t go either. I’m not going to leave her chained alone in this rotten cage!”
“Hush, darling!” A chained hand was placed on an impassioned arm. “We don’t have choices: neither of us. Look at the way we are, naked and chained and caged!” The older girl strove for a touch of humour. “There’s no use putting on that lovely new uniform on top of a collection of whip weals.”
“A wise counsel,” said Captain Rulua approvingly.
“I don’t want to be a Storm Trooper,” said the chosen recruit disconsolately.
The Captain decisively unlocked the door of the cage.
“I’ll admit it’s nice to be free of those chains,” Trudy concurred as she kept pace with her guide and mentor. “Thank you for only handcuffing me, and thank you for this cloak. I wouldn’t want to take this walk naked. Is it far?”
“The President has been generous. We have the former Cricket Club premises. The Club House has been replaced by a modern facility. The cricket field itself is our drill and training ground. It is well contained by a high electric fence.”
“To keep the public out, or us in?”
“Don’t be facetious, dear. Military life must be taken seriously. A girl like you could go far.”
The guard at the gate was an eye opener. A coffee-coloured Juno attired in a nice compromise between Buck Rogers and Star Trek. Hollywood would have put her on the payroll instantly. She saluted briskly as she raised the barrier.
“Ten days ago she was selling nylons in a department store,” the Captain informed complacently. “Just look at her now!”
Halfway across the former playing field they came to the Post. It was a stark timber well planted in the soil. Here and there around the field there were others. This one was in use. To it was tightly bound another coffee-tinted maiden. This one minus uniform. The symmetrical curves void of any covering whatsoever, no doubt to enable the binding ropes to cut deeper into the lovely skin. At ankles, knees, waist and above the conical breasts, the strands bit and cinched the prisoned girl into total immobility—except her hands and arms which were free. No knots were visible: no doubt contrived at the rear where questing fingers could not reach. “I want you to watch this, dear,” said Captain Rulua pridefully.
It was worth watching. It welled sympathy into every fiber of Trudy’s being, and a flicker of fear. This girl today, perhaps herself tomorrow! When they came within ten paces the bound nudity swelled against the ropes and a hand and arm rose smartly to a precisely executed salute. A salute which the Captain acknowledged with panache.
“At ease!”
The command ended the salute but had no effect on the rest of the girlish figure which could not move. The free arms hung at each side, palms flat against prisoned hips.
“This is Nikola, dear. You’ll get to know her when she returns to duty after her punishment.”
“But, poor dear, how long—?”
“She was tied as you see her at 0.8 hours this morning. She will remain tied until tomorrow evening. She has a lesson to learn.”
“But—but, that’s—!”
“She will be hosed down at appropriate intervals.”
So simple! Everything sanitary. Two days and a night of immobility and pain, the free arms and hands nothing but a frustrating mockery.
“Having the use of her hands enables her to slap the mosquitoes.” The Captain made it sound a major concession.
“But what’s the poor girl done?”
“Nikola dear, I think it would be nice if you told Miss Ramsay how you misbehaved. Feel free to speak frankly. Miss Ramsay is our new recruit.”
“Yes, ma’am, thank you.” It was as though the need to speak had been a pent-up urgency. The words which followed were devoid of resentment. Trudy caught a glimpse of something unexpected.