The slave girl

by Hans Meijer

  "Of course. And let me tell you, you're damned expensive stuff."

  Corey took her chance. "Will you arrange ransom for Audrey and me, Mr. Burdett?"

  "Too much hassle, Miss Gibson. Sorry."

  "The sum could be huge."

  "Miss Gibson, when you stand up on that auction block you're going to be shocked out of your socks by the price some guy's going to pay for you. We're taking you to where the money is."

  The chain seemed heavier. Their value as merchandise made them doubly captive. Corey tried another approach.

  "Please, must we be chained? We can't run away in this wilderness. You could control us without all this hardware on our necks."

  "You're dreaming, kid. We take these little coffee colored cuties off the coffle, they'd melt into that brush like they weren't even there." He guffawed again. "You probably wouldn't be far behind, but your white ass would be easier to follow."

  "It's so demeaning. We keep tugging at each other."

  Burdett remained indulgent. "Hell, girl, that coffle is about the most humane way we can handle the nine of you. You want to tell me a better way?"

  She could not! It was infuriating to think of their condition as desirable or convenient, but for the life of her she could think of nothing else. To be linked wrist to wrist would be far more inhibiting. To be bound with rope would be painful in the walk ahead.

  Burdett laughed at her chagrin. "Mustafa here wants we should give you white girls a damn good whipping right at the start, just so's you know where you're at and don't ask fool questions." He winked sardonically. "But with you two I can figure the adjustments you're having to make… don't suppose it's all that easy and seems to me you're doing O.K. So I'm good natured. But don't crowd your luck."

  "You don't have to sell us into slavery."

  Chapter 3

  Burdett sighed. Casually, he walked to a bush and cut a withe. Corey watched, shivering, while he trimmed it down to an instrument of punishment. "I'm sorry." She said nervously. "I'll shut up and keep quiet."

  He did not answer. When the supple wand was to his liking, he said pleasantly: "Hold your hand out, Miss Corey Gibson."

  She put both hands behind her back in shocked mortification. "You can't!" She exclaimed incredulously. "You wouldn't…?"

  "Why?" There was a wealth of caustic in the one word.

  "Because… I'm an adult woman!"

  "So…?"

  They stared at each other in confrontation. Lamely, Corey sought defense. "I don't want my hands whipped. I've already told you I'll behave."

  "Hold your hand out, way out."

  "But that's for children! It's… it's humiliating!"

  "The way I hit ain't for kids, Corey."

  "But even so…!"

  "It'll hurt enough you don't have to feel short changed."

  "But it's so… unnecessary!"

  "That's what you think." The steel of his eyes sought her's. "It's necessary alright. Using your hands makes it simple. If I have to unlock you from the coffle and tie you to a tree you'll get a flogging."

  Corey was annoyed with herself for finding logic in what he said. But to be punished like that in front of eight girls…! She had no faith in her ability to carry off such a punishment with panache. She would probably disgrace herself. She eyed the limber horror with distaste. "Please give me another chance?" She begged humbly.

  Seth Burdett held up a key. "Want me to unlock you?"

  Miss Corey Gibson held out her hand.

  Even as a child, neither her hands or any other part of her had been corporally corrected. To the daughter of the Planet Corporation such personal punishments had been abstract, figments of fiction. But there was nothing abstract about what was now taking place. The act, the intent, the witnesses, were etching themselves upon her consciousness with indelible force. The line of chained girls were straining for a better view of her shame, Audrey Cotswold's eyes were wide in commiseration. Amrah contemplated the pulsing tableau with a grin of approval. This was something she understood, a sure and certain guide to feminine behavior. But it was her own outstretched hand on which Corey most intently focused. That hand which was a part of her was about to be whipped, it had become a medium by which she was to receive agony. Delinquent eyes rose to lock with the grey amusement of her new co-owner. Seth Burdett was studying her hard, enjoying every moment, curious about a girl named Corey Gibson.

  It was a flash of motion. Swift, positive, deadly. The peeled withe cut Corey's taut palm with scorching venom. For a moment only she stood in shock. Then, as her hurt hand sent its messages of fire to every crevice of her being, she moaned in a desolation of pain and clapped her injured flesh beneath a comforting armpit. Her instinctive effort to bend double was thwarted by the chain to the neck on either side.

  Seth Burdett contemplated his work with satisfaction. His eyes followed every curve and twist of the enslaved girl as she sought to allay agony. His voice was mockingly helpful. "That doesn't do any good, y'know. It hurts the same wherever you hold it."

  "It does so!" She flung her agony at him between gasps.

  "Try another one. Hold it out again."

  Corey stiffened, horrified, her response desolate. "I can't… I can't possibly. It hurts too much."

  "Try."

  "It's impossible. You've no right to do any of these things to any of us."

  "Hold out your hand, Miss Corey Gibson."

  She sensed the steel in his command. The weight of chain on her neck dictated obedience. There was no escape. Bleakly, she raised her head, her demand incredulous: "The same hand…?"

  "Yes. And don't tuck it back under that arm again."

  "I cant! I'm sorry… I just cant do it."

  "You will either do it or each girl in de coffle gets one for you. It's not the best way to make friends."

  Corey Gibson longed to stamp her foot in fury at the complacence Male. He had her! Owned her! Every girl on the long chain was his and would have to do his bidding. they were slaves. Girls kidnapped from their former lives by a male and diverted to Male use. Aware of eight pairs of female eyes upon her anxiously, she held out her already wounded hand.

  It was an explosion of the unbearable, the fiery cut, the screaming nerves, and then the throbbing horror of compelling her whipped hand to hang loosely at her side as though in unconcern. Corey's anguished eyes sought Seth Burdett's pity.

  "You see, you do have it in you."

  Did she detect faint admiration? Perhaps! Brokenly, she gasped: "I can't let you hurt the others… You mustn't…!"

  "S'right, love." The Aussie drawl approved. "That's why you're going to hold out your other one."

  Corey looked at him askance. "I… I… Oh, please! How many?"

  "You don't ask. Hold it out."

  Corey held out her left hand. It was the same over again. Two cuts, numbing her fingers, throbbing with fearful pulsations of pain as she allowed her arms to hang limp. Suddenly Burdett was gone. The whipped girl buried her face in her agonized hands and wept bitterly. Her feminine companions on the chain pretended not to see. Audrey's sympathetic hand, tender on a bent shoulder, was the only human solace the coffle would permit. The nine girls slept in a chained line throughout the day. There was much snubbing and jerking of collared necks until they learned to huddle close to utilize the slack between chained necks. After they had been fed at evening they were subjected to one more slave indignity. Their right wrist was locked in a communal shackle.

  It was the coffle principle, the same as their neck. The same length of chain, and at the same intervals a metal wristlet, padlocked. If the wristlet was tight, they must not complain. Audrey received one stroke on each hand for her initial reaction:

  "But this is so unnecessary! The chains on our necks stop us escaping!"

  "And another on your right hand stops you being awkward, love. C'mon, stick it out. It doesn't hurt."

  "But why make it more difficult for us to march the way you want us to… all fastened togeth
er?"

  It was then Seth Burdett used his peeled strip once more. Audrey Cotswold held out her hands for them in resigned misery. While she was still twisting with their pain, Seth inquired affably: "Think that will help you watch your tongue?"

  "Yes, it will. I'm sorry. Here's my hand."

  The English beauty watched the metal circle her wrist, watched the padlock snap it tightly secure. For a moment she held up her new ornament to view, but it was snatched away by the chain's need to accommodate the next in line. She shared a resigned shrug and rueful grin with Corey. They were learning their lessons.

  There were four donkeys. Two for the men, two for gear. The slavegirls walked in single file, conscious always of Mustafa with a whip and of each other. With practice they learned a rhythm for their shackled arm and a cautious maintenance of slack chain between their collars. The white girls made the rueful admission that if nine naked slaves must traverse a wilderness their coffle was a most efficient instrument by which to keep them controlled. The chains irked but actually inhibited nothing except escape. With the addition of the fetter on their wrist escape was doubly impossible.

  The path was faint but it was there. Corey wondered how many other naked girls had trudged the single track to maintain its identity. It snaked its way through thickets and rock that would defeat a jeep. They were nine lost girls, trekking each night farther and farther from their homes or previous owners. Pursuit seemed improbable. Rescue or recapture would not even release them from their chains.

  With each step Corey knew herself more implacably enslaved. Each morning when it came to sleep through the sunlight hours Amrah and her counterpart at the other end of the chain were released to do the chores. When their tasks were done they passively presented their neck and wrist to be locked back into the coffle. Corey wondered if, given the chance, she would be equally amenable. Amrah summed it up.

  "No sense get whip. Where a girl run in this place?"

  "Why do they keep us chained then?" Corey asked irritably.

  "Girls very foolish.?Specially white girls. White girl always make fuss and get herself whipped. Best when chained."

  African logic! Corey recognized it as a prison without bars for attractive females. She never tired of examining the metal band round her right wrist and the padlock which kept it there. It beautifully symbolized a girl's status in this Male dominion. She thought back to the girl friends of her former life. Woefully, she longed for some of them to be locked with her on the chain. Hate it as she might she was seeing it as a dimension of femaleness she could never otherwise have known. Apathetically, she asked: "But, Amrah, don't you want to be free?"

  The lead slavegirl sniffed disdainfully. "Girls ain't never free. Much best we be bought by rich man."

  "Who'll probably whip you every day!"

  "Mebbee he whip me. But I make nice for him in bed. Amrah like that too. He buy me presents."

  "And chain you up every night."

  "O.K. So he chain Amrah. Is not so bad." Amrah held up her shackled wrist and giggled. "Is nice bracelet. Pretty lock."

  Corey envied her.

  There was Seth Burdett. To Corey Gibson he was very much a presence in a way his partner Mustafa was not. Mustafa spelt bad temper and a whip but Burdett was hope, a small tenuous hope because he was white and because his sardonic regard held hunger for her nakedness. He had whipped her hands but he had liked her. She was sure he liked her. Corey Gibson was pragmatist enough to know she would give him her body willingly for the key to her chains. That he could take her body easily at any time without her consent did not diminish the feminine wisdom by which she knew the power of affection or her gentleness of female fingers and female lips upon a love starved man. Seth was rough and he was tough but he desired her. Risking the whip, she tested him.

  "Mr. Burdett, why can't we be covered?"

  He cocked an enquiring eye at her pubic hair. "Can you tell me, Miss Gibson, why you should be?"

  "Even slaves have clothes. And being always naked… it's so messy."

  "You're not messy. We find a bit of water to dunk you in every day, don't we?"

  "I didn't mean that." Corey swept her gaze up and down the line of chained femininity. "But look at us… all breasts and pubic hair and hips… We're… too much!"

  "Can't have too much of a good thing, love. And we're careful not to get you sunburned."

  "You mean you like looking at naked girls?"

  "Yes. Especially when they're chained and well behaved."

  Corey swallowed anger. "Couldn't you at least cover our sex?" She looked him squarely in the eye. "Put our pubic hair out of sight?"

  He grinned at her earnestness. "Tell you what I could do since it bothers you that bad. I'll shave it off!"

  She fell back on hauteur. "I'm sorry I asked. I should have known…"

  "Known what?"

  "That I'm only a slave." Corey swallowed a sudden lump in her throat. "I'm trying hard to be a good one but it isn't easy. Being naked all the time is one of the most difficult things." Her tone placated. I won't be a nuisance about it. I honestly don't want to be whipped."

  Seth laughed at her dolor. "You can't be a nuisance, love, not chained the way you are. But you do have a gift for petulance. It will likely earn you a few stripes here and there on the trek."

  Petulant! Like a disappointed child! Angry at herself and at Burdett Corey held out her hand, retorting in stiff resentment: "My apologies, Mr. Burdett. Perhaps you'd like to cut my fingers up with a few strokes?"

  He pushed down her proffered arm. "In my own time." He said soberly. Before he turned away he chucked her under a sulky chin, and laughed at her obvious chagrin. "And remember this, young lady, from now on you address me as'Master?. Understand?"

  "Yes, Master." She made the title drip venom.

  "You're really asking for it, y'know." Audrey cautioned after their co-owner had departed. "You sure you're not in love with the son-of-a-bitch?"

  Obeying the tug of their chain they lay down to sleep.

  It was late afternoon close to the end of their sleeping when the turning of the keys wakened Corey from the last of sleep. Dazed, she allowed Burdett to raise her to her feet and lead her out into the trees. Her heart beat painfully at sight of the whip and cord he carried in his other hand. Out of sight and earshot of the camp, he positioned her, standing, whilst he sat upon a fallen tree. Toying with the whip, he examined her heaving breasts and allowed a silence to lengthen until the naked slavegirl could bear it no longer.

  "Do you realize I'm not fastened or… or anything?" She asked coldly.

  "S'right. Now's your chance."

  Corey sniffed disdainfully. "You know damn well I'm too frightened."

  "You forgetting something?"

  "I'm too frightened… Master!" "That's better. Feel nice to be out of the coffle?"

  Miss Corey Gibson was loath to admit how good it actually did feel. Without sight of the whip she would have been ecstatic. As it was she managed a polite: "Yes… Thank you." Then asked, plaintively: "Would you mind if I just moved a bit? I promise I won't run."

  "Go ahead."

  Corey did not care how silly she might look. She rubbed her wrist, she massaged her neck. She walked gleefully in a small circle. She was free, free, free! It was absurdly miraculous to be rid of chain. "I really am grateful." She admitted ingenuously, then hurriedly added: "… Master."

  "You do learn." He sounded pleased. "But d'you remember what I said happened to a girl if she got herself unlocked from the coffle?"

  Corey remembered. Once more her heart began to pound. She longed for clothes, for a weapon, for help. Unhappily, she confronted fear. "Yes, I remember, Master. The girl gets flogged." She looked at the whip and then at him. "You're going to flog me, aren't you?"

  "S'right."

  "What have I done?"

  "Nothing." He laughed at her chagrin. "Look on it as medicinal."

  "That's unfair."

  "Get used to it, Miss Gibson. W
hoever buys you will probably have his servants whip you regularly. There's nothing fair about slavery and being a pretty girl."

  It was useless to argue. In pulse leaping curiosity, Corey erased the tremors from her quiet acceptance. "Very well. So I get whipped! Is there some way you want me to position myself?"

  "Damn cool about it, aren't you? What goes, bravado?"

  "Yes." She wiped tears of self pity from her eyes. "I've never been whipped the way you want to whip me. I'm scared to death."

  "Good! It won't hurt you to wait a minute. What d'you know about Assef Aslam?"