"I only know Mr. Gyorkos and Mr. Pollard. They didn't promise me anything. I sort of got the idea my thrashing was going to come from you."
"Who's Pollard?"
"He works for Roland Bolling."
"Well, well!" He seemed pleased, as though I'd told him something. "So you're going to sweetly accept a whipping in order to soften me up!"
"I'd sooner go home," I said flatly. "If you'll take me back to Castle Glynt I'll let you whip me all you want. If you need money I can get you that too." He eyed me assessingly, then sighed. "Since we're both here I might as well enjoy the amenities." I filled his glass again. I moved as prettily as I could and made sure my handcuffs clinked a lot. "I'm a prisoner here," I told him without urgency. "I wish you'd believe me."
"What's your favourite whip?" he asked without humour. He seemed bored. "Actually I prefer to cane your bottom. It's the English thing, y'know. D'you mind?"
"Would it make any difference?" I asked coldly. "I mean, if I did mind?"
"Oh yes." He seemed faintly amused. "You'd kick up a fuss and get it twice as hard. Doing it your way I'll feel a bastard and go easy."
"Thank you."
"It's the nature of the male erection," he confided in the same bored tone. "If the female fights, it's potent. If she pleads and bowls and has to be gagged, it's a turn on. If she's beautiful and has a well curved behind she'll get no mercy."
"That last one's me, isn't it?" He actually laughed. "I like that. Yes, it's you. But I'm told you're different. One of those who want it, eh?"
"I can't convince them I'm only like that when I'm loved," I told him unhappily. "These people probably know all about making money, but they don't know a thing about girls."
"I can believe that too," he said musingly. "Sinclair and Gyorkos probably believe females should come in packages of a half dozen with quantity discounts. You're a commodity." He vouchsafed me a small commiserating smile. "You're in a bad spot, child, so far as communion goes. You're in a bad spot with me. I can understand what you say, but that won't prevent me from enjoying the privilege Gyorkos has handed me on a plate."
"You mean me?"
"Of course. They're crass and never heard of finesse. Making me a temporary gift of your body is hardly subtle. But I'm not fool enough to reject it." There was something decent under Royden's cynicism. I tried to touch it. "You intend to fuck me?" I deliberately used the ugly word.
"Oh come! You can do better than that."
"What are you going to do to me, or make me do for you?"
"You have certain talents?"
"With Yolanda, not with you."
"I can see they haven't brutalized you yet. You're pushy and you're clinging to something you've lost. It could be whipped out of you. In fact this may be the best way we can use our time together. I'd enjoy breaking you." The sum total effect of his casual suggestion made me angry with myself. The heat between my legs flamed. Royden had touched a chord in whatever makes me respond. I always see it as a betrayal of something or other, but I can't help it. I wondered if he could scent my femaleness as I suddenly could myself. I held up my handcuffed wrists, eyed them for a moment, them turned my gaze on him. "I can't stop you, can I," I said meekly.
"The way you say that is almost an invitation." I expect he was right. But I was frightened as well as sexually aroused. With me this is possible. "I don't want to be… broken," I said cautiously. "Couldn't we sort of compromise? Tell me what you enjoy most. I'll try and give it to you."
"You're in no position to give anything. You've lost it all."
"No I haven't! I'm still me inside." He nodded. "Fair enough. Select the cane you think will hurt you most."
"Is caning or whipping me your greatest pleasure?"
"Do what you're told." I recognized the moment. I knew it well. I took from the rack the instrument that would hurt most bitterly. On one knee I kissed its wickedness and offered it for his approval. He accepted and tested it without comment. "Refill my glass."
"Yes, Master."
"Have you had a man beat you before?"
"No, master."
"Where did you pick up this 'Master' thing?"
"I didn't. I just thought it would please you and show I was willing. I expect a lot of what I do is instinctive." He regarded me with new interest. "You are a bit special. I'm going to hurt you cruelly, but you're mixing that drink with a steady hand." He swished the cane through the air in a way that added fuel to my fire. "D'you know if you're up for sale?"
"I don't know anything, Master. I just got kidnapped. But someone was willing to pay a hundred thousand pounds for me."
"Hmmmm! I'd consider it." I suddenly wanted Royden to buy me. He might be cruel, but he was more my kind than Gyorkos. Perhaps when he tired of me he would sell me back to Yolanda. Hope flared. "Please buy me," I pleaded. "I want you to. I'm frightened." I could tell he was pleased. But he was not going to allow a slave girl to direct the conversation. "Have you ever been hung up by your wrists?" He asked matter-of-factly.
"Yes, Master."
"Adds something to what we're about to do, don't you think?"
"Of course, Master. It makes me beautifully available."
"Good! Find what is needed." I delivered his drink and my obeisance on bended knee, then went in search of the requisite objects for my unearned punishment. The room had everything. It came up trumps. "They're padded. I hope you don't mind," I ventured tentatively as I handed him the leather wristlets. "But if you'd prefer something to hurt my wrists more, I'm sure I can find it. Or maybe rope?"
"These are perfect." He gave me a comradely grin. "Rings and all. Someone here must know what they're about. I suspect that trapeze affair is motivated by the switch in the wall." It was. I lowered the bar to where I could easily reach it. I was quivering. What I was doing was like being made to dig my own grave. But the emotion now uppermost within me was no longer pure fear. I set my Master's drink back on the bar and held out my hands so that he could relieve me of the handcuffs with the key that, sure enough, he had in his pockets. I took the steel bands, warm from my flesh, and hung them on the wall. I could positively feel his curiosity as to whether I was now going to cut up rough under the temptation of being free. I ended the suspense by proffering my hands once more so that he could buckle the wristlets. He did it with swift strong incisive motions. He made them tight. Cheerfully, I stood beneath the bar and raised my arms, looking at him with a respectful and inviting smile. A moment later my wristlets were snapped to each end of the trapeze, and my new Master was striding towards the switch. I am sure that for most girls, to be suspended naked by their wrists must be traumatic. You're so shockingly bare you feel almost entirely pussy and nipples, your helplessness is utter. It also hurts like blazes, a strange sort of hurt that isn't just your wrists. Your shoulders scream indignantly at what is being done to them. You have an instinctive compulsion to raise and lower your feet as though pedaling a bicycle that isn't there. For me it is not traumatic at all. For the first while I hang there in an erotic haze of sensation. I am bound, I am bare, I am delivered, I am vulnerable. But, above all, I belong to someone. I am completely female to be used. They can do what they please with me. It's a quite remarkable feeling. If a girl was not scared to death she would know herself exquisitely desirable. Silly, I suppose, but I was hoping Royden was enjoying me. I avoided his eyes, and just hung in sweet resigned nakedness. The burn of the cane across my bottom was so unexpected it drew a yelp of surprise from me, but its pain went only to feed my fire.
"We have a tendency to talk too much," Royden observed pleasantly, and struck me again. I knew that to keep silent would be an affront. I made the sounds of orgasm. They were not simulated. They are the most sensually satisfying sounds for a girl to emit in that context. They earned me a respite while Royden enjoyed them. I could hear his indrawn breath.