"Good morning, Phemie." At the sound of the familiar endearment I almost wept. But the pain re-asserted itself so that I burst out with the first spontaneous exclamation that came to mind. "Are you at the bottom of all this?"
"Mr. Pollard is without guilt." Ashad's voice was cold. "Thanks, old chap." James eyes devoured my nudity and as many of the wires as he could see. Even hurting as I was I longed to do something with my legs that would hide the shameful clip between them from view. "Dammit, man! Do you have to have the girl tortured like this?"
"She is an uncooperative little bitch, Mr. Pollard."
"Well, if there's going to be any discussion you can damn well get those wires and that… that… thing off her." The words were magic. Ashad motioned with his hand in a manner eloquent enough for Jennie. The pliers snipped and snipped and firm fingers relieved my pussy of its enemy. I gasped in an ecstatic mixture of relief and agony as each infliction was peeled from my skin.
"You're a brutal lot. The poor girl's bleeding." Again the magic gesture. Jennie hurried away for a damp cloth. Without permission I sank down on the carpet. While she laved my wounds I stayed there in a sort of blissful coma. When she handcuffed my wrists behind my back it seemed a very trivial indignity.
"Do you have to handcuff her?" James was in great form.
"Come, Mr. Pollard, she is a girl and a captive. Let us be reasonable."
"Well, I suppose…" James was eyeing me anxiously. His concern did me a world of good. Suddenly aware that I was naked and helpless before two men my fire rekindled. It was tiny, but true. After a bit of an awkward silence James said to me with a bit of a break in his voice: "Phemie, things have gone wrong. This is not the way it was supposed to be."
"Take me home then and we'll start afresh." I was feeling better.
"You will not go home," said Ashad. I had a sudden inspiration. I looked at my Arab owner. "Miss Harding can give you the hundred thousand she got from Bolling and buy me back?" He actually smiled. "There are impediments, Miss Carstairs."
"She sent the cheque back and is talking about the police," James contributed uncomfortably.
"And why not the police?" I demanded.
"Oh, she'd get 'em alright! But she faces the awkwardness of her original purchase of you. She's a bit vulnerable."
"So who do I belong to now?"
"You are a prize of war. Never doubt your status," Ashad said grimly.
"Don't be so damn theatrical," James Pollard pleaded testily. "Roland Bolling took her in the first place, Bolling will deal with Miss Harding one way or another; Bolling wants her. He will not calmly hand her over to you." His voice hardened. "He can cause you trouble, y'know. You could use him as a friend." The familiar feeling of nakedness and impotence fell on me again. I tugged at the handcuffs. How symbolic of my condition they had become! I was a slave girl, bartered for. My tiny fire burned greedily. Ashad's voice plainly told of playing a trump card: "We have the girl, you do not. Leave her with us a couple of day, then give us the hundred thousand and she is yours."
"You'll torture her."
"She has information we must have."
"Gyorkos didn't have her long enough. Why on Earth would he or Royden blabber to a slave?" Ashad shrugged. "Men do. Even a chance remark she does not understand might tell us much."
"Absolutely no torture!"
"She is but a girl. Your concern for her flesh is… stupid." To me, handcuffed and naked on the rug, it seemed simple. I looked at James and asked crisply: "Why don't you go to the police?" Their faces told me I had said something silly and faintly humourous. James viewed me sadly. "There are wheels within wheels, Phemie, Sort of interlocking interests. Big business doesn't know much charity."
"Why can't you walk out of here with me now?"
"Because we won't let him," said Ashad.
"These blokes are having themselves a little Holy War all their own, Phemie. There's no reasoning with them outside money and influence." James shook his head at me regretfully. "If Bolling could give 'em a battleship or a fleet of tanks, they'd hand you over like a shot."
"I bet there's oil in there somewhere?" I asked bitterly.
"Of course." Ashad made a dismissive gesture. "Go back to your superior, Mr. Pollard. I am sure the two of you can come up with something we can examine. In the meantime we will keep the wench. I will accept your suggestion that she be viewed only as merchandise. No torture."
"That's a lot better!" James boyish grin returned. "Is there a deadline?"
"Not with us, Mr. Pollard. We simply sell her to the first good offer. Let us hope it is yours. We have other things to concern us than breasts and buttocks and pubic hair." He made me sound like a soiled spot on his carpet. James's chaste kiss on my forehead helped a bit. He raised me to my feet and said: "You'll be alright, Phemie," Then he was gone. Ashad and Jennie and I looked at each other without much enthusiasm. "Your champion is very young, Miss Carstairs." Ashad's few words dismissed James utterly. Right there I knew I was lost. "You promised no torture!" My exclamation was spontaneous.
"Did I?" He spoke as though I was reminding him of something he could not recollect. I followed Jennie from the room. I had to, she had clipped the jaws back on my vagina, this time on the opposite lip. The leash from it to her hand was not a bond of love. When we got back to the cell, I stood like a tethered puppy. Jennie held the other end of the cord and surveyed me pensively. "Ashad won't kill you and he won't seriously injure you, love, if that's any help."
"Can't I just be left in here with the door locked — and the handcuffs, of course?" Again I was made to feel I'd said something childish. It was hard for me to see myself as the object of interest, desire, lust or just plain pleasure that I was in the eyes of others, even Jennie.
"You're just unlucky, kid," she told me. "You'll have to get used to it."
"Not those wires again!"
"A nice easy day, ducks. I'm going to hang you up by your thumbs." She did too! She actually did. In spite of my protestations that I would not fight, I was made to stand on a box with my back to the wall. The odd tug on my cunt clip made me very anxious to please. My ankles were then wired together, tight.
"Not that again, oh please!"
"I'll take it off when you're fixed. It just makes sure you won't be silly, dear." I was very careful not to be a bit silly. When my handcuffs were unlocked, I offered my hands limply for whatever was to be done to them. Thoughts of a struggle with that wire cutting into my ankles was out of the question. I watched with a bit of real curiosity and with my fire sort of holding its own while the soft leather bands were looped below the knuckle of each of my thumbs. It was medieval, but it was happening. It was happening to me!
"Mustn't have 'em so they cut, love. Spoils the effect." What small consolations are meaningful to slaves! It appeared I was not to hang free.. Jennie went and got a small stepladder so she could raise my hand up and outstretched to be tied to a ring in the wall. Tied by my thumb, that is. My hand was free in an odd sort of way. She then did the same for the other side. I stood on the box with my wired feet and my arms and torso well stretched up. "You look real sweet, love," Jennie admired. She then took away the box. It was another first, different! I moaned with its shock and special kind of pain. It didn't just hurt my thumbs, but my shoulders and arms and wrists. I felt quite certain my thumbs could not last long, there would soon be some horrific sundering. This was not something to make me want to behave, this was torture. Jennie's face looked up at me with wry compassion.