The Perilous Adventures Of Isabel And Moira free porn video

THE PERILOUS ADVENTURES OF ISABEL AND MOIRA

By Sailor 861

Isabel Metcalfe's nipples and pussy were still singing their sexy songs whenshe and husband Peter arrived home from their bondage weekend at Hotel Balmoral,near Cape Wrath, Scotland, with best friends Moira and Graham MacPeak thatsummer in 1975. Married just 1½ months, Isabel's sex life had takenstellar leaps forward in quality, duration and frequency since she arrivedhome in early June with her ankles chained following an alien encounter ona dark country road just two miles from her door. (See Through Nightto Light

Afraid and anxious at first about her strange, new shackles and the effectsthey would have on her physically, sexually and emotionally, she confrontedher doubt and committed herself to live with – and accept – herbondage when it became known they were made of a metal harder than any knownon Earth. They could not be removed, she was told. Then, days later, she waskidnapped and transported, hogtied, to an East African country where she effectedescape, in chains, and returned to Scotland relatively unscathed. She was lateroffered a position as a lab assistant/consultant in the metallurgy divisionof the University of Edinburgh's engineering faculty and her second week onthe job would start tomorrow. Dr. Michael Ledstone had arranged for her employmentto study this bizarre, new metal and the unique design of her shackles andwith Mrs. Metcalfe in the office next door, he was free to conduct spectroscopicexaminations and x-rays to his heart's content. He promised Isabel would bethe first to review his discussion paper on his proposal to the universityboard of governors to submit a new substance for inclusion in science's PeriodicTable of Elements which, when approved, would make him and his chained colleague "richbeyond means," he said. "Whatever that means," Isabel said as she snapped outof her daydream, finishing up the dinner dishes.

"Wha'cha thinkin', Is.?", Peter said, in his Canadian East Coast drawl fromthe kitchen table. He loved to sit and watch as his bride moved so effortlesslyin bondage. Her braless, 38-C breasts, with 1½-in.-diameter seamlessrings inserted with surgical precision through her nipples – courtesyof the ETs – were an ongoing source of fascination and stimulation.

"It looked like your mind was light-years away." "Yes," Isabel replied, "Iwas just thinking about work in the lab tomorrow. You know, the first weekwent by so quickly. I received my orientation, I was interviewed, got the paperworksigned, sealed and delivered and everybody was just so nice. But some of thesnoopy staff and students would gaggle in the hallway outside my door justto get a glimpse of my chains. I would look up, smile and they would all turnbright red, like Scots do when embarrassed, or angry, and turn away. One youngstud even asked me for tea at 3 one day but I turned him down smartly." Isabelfinished tidying up in the kitchen and noticed the hall clock chiming 9 p.m.It was Sunday, September 1, 1975, and another work week also lay just aheadfor Moira MacPeak, Isabel's best friend, who had agreed to have her ankleschained for one year during the bondage weekend just past. (See Moira's Story)Down the road, Moira MacPeak, 33, was going through the same physiologicalsymptoms as her pal, Isabel, 35, just a mile away. She and husband, Graham,also had a glorious, sexy long weekend that culminated in her agreement tohave leg shackles welded on her trim ankles for 52 weeks. Tonight, she waspractising walking about the living room to get ready to start her new positionas administrative assistant in the offices of the local woolen mill in thesmall western Scotland town five miles away from their country homes. The millagreed to transfer her off the machinery floor, as a "safety risk," to thegeneral office when it became known she would be coming to work in chains.

A vaguely-written subsection in the mill's 75-year-old Terms of Employmentallowed female employees to come to work wearing modest jewellery, such asrings and bracelets as well as unspecified "decorative chains," provided theywere not a risk to the safe, effective and efficient operation of the mill'smachinery floor. Her husband watched Moira dutifully from his armchair andnoted her motions were becoming more fluid, graceful and relaxed as she gotused to the sensations of taking 18-in., chain-snubbed strides. By 9:30, Sunday,Sept. 1, both couples were ready for bed. Sexually satiated from the activitiesof Friday and Saturday nights at the strange, erotic Hotel Balmoral, they werecontent to snuggle their way to sleep. Bedside clocks in the Metcalfe and MacPeakhouseholds clattered together at exactly 6:30 a.m. and Isabel and Moira swungtheir chained legs out of bed to get ready for work. Moira chose a new linenbusiness suit she had just purchased for her new office job and Isabel pickedher favourite white translucent silk blouse and straight grey skirt that showedher braless, 38-26-39 figure to best effect. She, like Moira, was comfortablegoing braless – Isabel wore an African-style loincloth under her skirtwhile Moira's loins were bare – and their breasts, as well as their chains,became the subject of the men's water-cooler talk and quiet, curious glancesand envious stares from female staff at the mill, at Edinburgh U and pubs,offices, buildings and homes across town and throughout western Scotland. Moiraand Isabel refused to acknowledge the glances, open-mouthed stares and whispersthat abounded, and they sailed through their first day and second week of workrespectively, returning home tired but satisfied about 6 p.m. to watch theevening news and get supper going before watching a bit of telly before bed.Isabel walked easily into the kitchen, her ankle chains clattering noisilyon the vinyl tiles, and saw the registered letter Peter had left for her onthe kitchen table when he arrived home before her.

Isabel ripped the envelope open and read the watermarked, classy blue stationery:

Balmoral Hotel Cape Wrath, Scotland 31August 1975 Dear Isabel: Wewere so pleased to receive you and your husband, Peter, at our hotel this pastweekend and trust the accommodations and amenities were to your satisfaction. Dr.Byron Lord, of Glasgow, an eminent surgeon and psychologist, will be withus next weekend and has asked whether you and your friend, Moira MacPeak,would like to be his guests at our facility this weekend, Sept. 6 - 7.He is researching the physical, psychological and emotional effects of long-termrestraint on the human body and would like to interview you and yourfriend as an important part of this project as soon as possible. Ifyou agree, we will provide free transportation to and from Cape Wrath and,of course, all meals and lodging will be at our expense. Pleasefeel free to call me, or Michael, at 01-224-265280, 9 - 5, Monday - Saturday.Thanks. We look forward to your affirmative reply. I have sent thisletter to Moira as well. Yourssincerely, Sheila Baker. Isabelthought: Well, that's very generous of them; I wonder if Moira wants togo. I wouldn't mind another weekend up there and I am sure Peter wouldnot mind a weekend apart. Peter walked in an hour later and Isabel playedher cards to the fullest. She greeted him at the door with a warm hug,snuggling close to him so her breasts flattened hard against his muscularchest. "Mm-m, what's up, doll?" Peter said, kissing her on the lips. "Peter,dear, I want to go back up to Balmoral Hotel with Moira this weekend. Isthat all right with you?" Peter sat in the living room and wondered. Moiraand Isabel could not get into too much mischief by themselves at that remotehotel, could they? He wondered. "Let me think about it, Is. Call Moiraand see if she wants to go." Isabel did so and Moira was agreeable, asalong as Isabel would go with Peter's approval. She said Graham had agreed,with reservations; Isabel relayed this information and Peter acquiesced. "Yes,my dear; go with my blessings," Peter said. He would come to rue thosewords deeply, for the rest of his life, in less than a week. "You and Moirago and have the time and adventure of your life." He smiled quietly, unawarethose words would ring too true to life in just four short days. Isabelshowed Peter her letter from Sheila, the Balmoral Hotel proprietor, andPeter nodded his silent assent. The trip was on and Isabel and Moira wereall smiles after Isabel phoned to say they would be coming up at the weekend.Meanwhile, at Balmoral Hotel, 150 miles northeast of their west coast countryhomes, Dr. Lord, Sheila and Michael Baker were comparing notes about lastdetails to subdue, bind and "surgically alter" Isabel and Moira in preparationfor delivery to the kidnapper-couriers, Catherine and Joanne, as requestedby a powerful white-slavery cartel which had contracted their services.

Five-hundred-thousand pounds sterling, half the agreed amount, had alreadybeen deposited in unnumbered Swiss bank accounts in each of their names asdown payment with the balance to follow on delivery – Isabel and Moirawere to be C.O.D. slaves. Dr. Lord had brought along his surgical equipmentand anesthesia suite; a wide variety of IV equipment, antibiotics, anti-inflammatoriesand analgesics had been delivered and unpacked; specially-screened medicalstaff had been hired and was to arrive at the appointed time, Friday night,Sept. 6, 1975, to be briefed on their duties by Dr. Lord and the Bakers; and,finally, Ned, a Tobermory metalworker, welder and artificer, had been engagedand briefed on the job requirements -- his silence assured with a generoussum of Scottish pounds – all paid for through the special joint bankaccount set up in the names of Blaker and Ford, at the Scottish national bank,Aberdeen.

"Well, I think all is in readiness, or nearly so, on our part, Dr. Lord," saidSheila. "What about your operating room and medical arrangements? Are you quitesatisfied?" "Yes, Mr. and Mrs. Baker," said the handsome, fierce-eyed surgeon. "Ihave arranged for the staff to be at hand when needed, my OR is nearly readyand all post-operative care facilities, drugs and equipment are here and readyto be set up in the cells adjoining my operating theatre." Dr. Lord, recentlydisbarred from the Scottish medical society for professional misconduct, wasa highly-skilled general surgeon with a background in clinical psychology.He disguised his psychotic/sadistic predilections well. Targeted by the Bakersto carry out the special bondages and surgeries required by the white slavers,he was the ideal man for the job -- sworn to silence but driven by avarice,money and power. "All we need now are the persons of Mrs. Isabel Metcalfe andMrs. Moira MacPeak," the surgeon said, with a sinister glint in his ice-cold,blue eyes. His palms started to sweat in anticipation and there were only fourdays to go until they were scheduled to arrive, Friday, Sept. 6, 1975, about10 p.m., well after the medical staff had arrived, briefed and gone to bed.He imagined what he was going to do with all that additional loot that wouldbe stashed in his Swiss bank account after these little surgeries were completed – probablyin less than three hours – this weekend.

A million quid for three hours' work; not bad, he said to himself. And most,if not all, of it could be done by someone with far-less experience than his.He chuckled grimly at the incentives to get this job done, quickly, safelyand efficiently, and committed himself to keep uppermost the health and well-beingof the slaves-to-be that would soon come under his demented attentions. Atleast that part of Dr. Lord's twisted code of medical ethics had not desertedhim. But what happened to their safety and well-being after he finished andturned over to the post-op people and the couriers were none of his affair.

LOST, LONG WEEKEND

Ninety-six hours to the minute, at 10 p.m., Friday, Sept. 6, Isabel and Moiradrove up the Hotel Balmoral driveway and parked their little black Austin MiniMinor in the lot nearby. They were dressed to the nines: Isabel wore her bestgrey, three-piece business suit with a straight skirt that fell to three in.above her knees, the grey skirt highlighting the steel of her alien ankle chainsnicely, while Moira chose her "little black dress," a tight, little woollennumber that showed off her 36C-24-37 braless figure and her man-made, weldedankle shackles extremely well. The women's chains clashed and clinked as theymade their way over the gravel roadway to the front stairs but they did notseem to mind the distraction. It seemed they had just left as they were metby Sheila and Michael, the proprietors, in the lobby.

"Hello, Isabel and Moira; we are so glad you've come again," Sheila said,as she shook their hands warmly. Michael hung up the phone as they came inand stood in the background by the registration desk at the rear of the lobbylooking for any telltale signs of a setup or that the slaves-to-be had beentipped to the scheme. There were, of course, no signs. Everything was in orderand going like clockwork. So far. "Hello, Michael," Isabel and Moira chimedtogether, waving at him. "Nice to see you again." Michael nodded and smiledenigmatically.

"Hello, you two; I hope you have a nice rest tonight. Tomorrow looks likea very busy and interesting day for you with Dr. Lord who will be with us momentarily." Michaelreddened as he paused to consider his near-faux pas. "This way, ladies," Sheilasaid. "Let me show you to your rooms. You must be tired after that three-hourjourney from the west coast to 'way up here." Sheila was wearing her ankleshackles from the previous weekend and Isabel wondered whether they were welded.They didn't appear to be, at first glance. Oh well, Isabel said to herself.Three pairs of leg shackles clinked, clashed and clattered on the polishedhardwood floor as Sheila led the way to their adjoining rooms. Once unpacked,handbags on dresser tables and settled in, Moira came into Isabel's room witha quiet rustle of links and sat on the bed. "This should be interesting, Isabel;all day with a surgeon tomorrow," Moira said. "I've never had that long a timewith any doctor, ever, and all he wants is to talk about how we manage in thesechains. It's not all that bad after all, I've discovered. How about you? Haveyou really gotten used to being chained all the time?" Isabel nodded and smiled. "Notexactly. I'll go into that in more detail but first, Moira, do you ever getthat intuitive feeling things are not what they should be – that something'sjust not right – but you can't put your finger on it?" "Yes, occasionally." "There'ssomething about this whole visit that strikes oddly. Why would Dr. Lord wantto meet us up here? Why not in his offices? Who is he, anyway? And what ishis involvement with the Bakers? And, most important, why were our husbandsnot invited? All this worries me – but I don't know why. "Let's sleepon it," Moira offered.

Two floors directly below them, the makeshift operating room sat in readinessfor two unsuspecting women.

Isabel and Moira chatted about "girlfriend" things, the work week just past,their husbands and sons, and decided to go to bed after an hour. It was dark,late and they wanted to look their best tomorrow. "Good night, Is.," Moirasaid. "See you in the a.m." "G'night, Mo." Isabel and Moira undressed in theirrooms, put on their nightgowns and crawled into bed. The women saw the samenotes on their pillows:

Balmoral Hotel We have attached a collarand long chain to the bedframe. They are under the leftpillow and the key is in the nightstand drawer. Enjoy. S and M, proprietors. "Ye-e-ah,why not?" Isabel thought, as she withdrew the collar and long, medium-weightchain from under the pillow. She expertly hefted the shiny steel collarto her neck, closed the two halves and inserted the padlock through theholed flanges in front. She pushed the hasp of the little brass lock throughthe perfectly-aligned holes and pushed it secure with a sharp snap, chainingherself in bed for the night. She had forgotten the key! "Well, no onecan take me away from the hotel tonight like this," she said aloud. "Notif they don't have the key." Moira declined the collar and both women weresoon sound asleep. Sheila called the two women at 7:30 next morning forbreakfast and Isabel's steel collar was unlocked by Sheila who gave hera pleasant smile and pat on the head before leaving the room. Isabel andMoira put on their suit and dress and walked to the dining room, freshafter a good night's sleep and hot, invigorating showers.

Their faces shone and their smiles dazzled as they greeted the Bakers andDr. Lord in the dining room.

The five, seated at a window table, introduced themselves and Moira and Isabelwere at first shy to meet such a distinguished surgeon, with such pervasive,glinting-cold eyes, to talk about their bondage experiences. "Tea?" Sheilaasked. "Yes, please," Moira and Isabel chorused. Sheila rose to the nearbybuffet – her ankles were unchained today – got the brewed teapotand carefully poured Isabel and Moira cupfuls of the beverage laced with enoughpowerful benzodiazepines to put a horse to sleep. "Lemon?" "Please." Isabeland Moira were inveterate tea drinkers and they enjoyed savoring the deliciousTwinings. Today, it had a slight, chemical taste but that didn't matter. Twiningswas still the best tea in the world. "M-mm, delicious," Moira said. "There'slemon and something else I can't define." She took another, a larger sip andthe room started to swim. Isabel's vision also started to blur after her seconddrink and, in 15 seconds, they knew something was seriously wrong as they triedto stand up from the table. Off-balance, with chained ankles and their brainsbeing put to sleep by the powerful drug, Isabel's and Moira's knees turnedto water as they tripped on their ankle chains and collapsed in a heap in themiddle of the polished-oak dining room floor. Dr. Lord waited a minute, casuallywalked over to the pair, opened an eyelid on each attractively made-up, stillface to examine pupil dilation and pronounced: "Yep, they're out. Colder thanmackerels." He took each woman's pulse and confirmed they had slowed nicelyin their narcosis.

They were ready for the OR as he injected a mild sedative. Two burly medicalporters suddenly appeared with gurneys and easily lifted Isabel and Moira ontothe wheeled cots. In less than five minutes they were downstairs in the well-organizedand -equipped OR in the last 8 X 10 cell on the left– the same one Isabeland Peter had occupied just last weekend – and two nurses assisted Dr.Lord with the surgical prep. Their clothes were cut off and taken away to beburned as they were placed supine on the gurney which had been secured to ringboltsin the disinfected stone floor.

Dr. Lord excused the nurses and started to arrange his equipment and thepatients. Moira was on a gurney at his left; four feet away, Isabel at hisright hand. He could complete a procedure on one and immediately begin thenext. The dual anesthesia suite was at the head of the gurneys, the sterilized-instrumenttray at hand between the two and a professional OR light had been installedoverhead to provide perfect lighting. Everything was in readiness and Dr. Lordbegan dictating to a tape recorder.

"Two white, female patients, unconscious, sedated, ages 35 and 33; one isfive-ft. two-in., approx. 110 lbs., with ankle shackles welded on; the other,five-ft. four-in., approx. 115 lbs., with pierced nipples and ankle shacklesof a type I have never seen before. No apparent deformities, good limbs, musculatureand tone; evidence of previous childbirths, breasts healthy, normal, slightlypendulous, well-formed nipples bilaterally; good general health, BP 120/70,p. 60 (No. 1) and 122/72, p. 62 (No. 2), at 8 a.m., Saturday, Sept. 7, 1975.Both have been secured to gurneys with sterile cable ties through their chains.The operations now begin. I have just completed removal of pubic hair withrazors and depilatory creams. Electrolysis to follow. Heart monitors, saline-solutionand anesthetic IV lines in place; oxygen administered. Full GA established;expected duration, three hours; all vital signs normal."

Dr. Lord then bathed Isabel's and Moira's vaginal areas with betadine, ayellow topical antiseptic, and pierced Isabel's and Moira's labia majora bilaterally,twice, at 3/8th-in. intervals, with a long, thin scalpel, clamped the bleedingswith small hemostats and inserted a two-in.-diameter, 1/8th-in.-thick tungsten-steelring through each, closing each with a powerful forceps and welding the closureswith a special surgical-steel-welding apparatus. Isabel and Moira were effectivelyrendered chaste by piercing – time elapsed: 3.5 minutes. Lord pauseda few moments to check for bleeding at the pierces, saw none and carried on.He failed to hear a small hemostat fall off the tray onto a mat on the stonefloor.

The mad surgeon then attached a three-ft. length of 1/8th-in.-thick, oblong-linkedstainless-steel chain to each woman's lower vaginal ring with another, slightlyheavier surgical-steel ring, which he again welded shut, and connected thechain similarly to the centre link of Isabel's ankle chain, leaving Moira'schain unattached to her ankles temporarily – time elapsed: three minutes.Dr. Lord paused. No one stirred and the only sounds were hums from the heart/BPmonitors. The women's bare breasts rose and fell slowly, evenly and regularly.Everything was in order, except for the errant hemostat. Dr. Lord then beganbreast augmentations on Moira and Isabel, as requested by the slavers: he hadeasily decided, based on Moira's 36C breast size, that 750 cc soft, but durable,silicone-rubber sacks could be implanted without difficulty and each filledwith 1000cc of saline solution. Isabel's 38C breast size could probably accommodate1000 cc sacs, filled with 1200 cc saline. The implants would produce Hollywood-styleheavy bosoms, Lord thought, and that Mrs. Metcalfe and Mrs. MacPeak would,most likely, have 45G- to 50G-sized breasts, which would look "exceptionallylarge on their petite frames," he thought. But these procedures were requestedand he was determined to live up to the terms of his contract. Dr. Lord beganby making 1½-in. incisions in each woman's armpits.

Lifting the breast tissue, he created pockets in the chest/breast area andcarefully placed the sacks under their pectoral muscles. He then pumped inmeasured quantities of saline, carefully watching their breasts grow in volumebefore his eyes, and quickly closed the necks of the sacks and sutured theincisions -- time elapsed: one hour, 30 seconds. The surgeon, now working againstthe clock, stimulated Moira's long nipples into erection, pierced each witha 14-gauge needle, inserted 1½-in. rings through each, welded them closedand welded a 16-in. length of light surgical-steel chain to both rings. Heturned around and attached an identical chain to Isabel's pre-existing nipplerings – time elapsed: five minutes, 10 seconds. The methodical Dr. Lordcontinued to dictate as he worked and looked up at his patients' vital signsmonitors. All normal. "Bring in the metalworker," Dr. Lord called finally.

Ned Fianders of Tobermory, Scotland, had never been in an OR in his lifeand felt awkward as he wheeled his oxyacetylene-torch kit down the hallwayin surgical greens. Michael Baker, the proprietor, signalled for him to goin. "They're yours; you have 25 minutes," Dr Lord said curtly, as Ned set downhis sterilized tools. He quickly brought up the prefabricated, tungsten-steelcollars to be welded onto Moira's and Isabel's necks. They would be snug: 61/4-in.-diameter, 1/8th-in. thick, 1-in. wide, with a 3/4-in. staple affixedsolidly to the front. He slipped them onto their necks, closed them with alarge metalworker's tool, went outside and came back in, his torch lit witha bright-blue flame. He placed an asbestos cloth between the women's collarsand their neck and had the collars securely welded shut with blue-grey seamsalong the rear curvatures which were cooling satisfactorily in three minutes.

Ned then used large boltcutters to remove Moira's ankle shackles, weldeda set of 18-in., tungsten-steel ankle chains in their place and completed theirpermanent steel bondage by welding pairs of 12-in., shiny tungsten shacklesonto their wrists – total time elapsed: 20 minutes. "You're excused,with thanks," said Dr. Lord, as he completed attaching Moira's vagina-to-ankleschain exactly as he had secured her friend's. Fianders left in a hurry. Hehad never had such a job before in his 20 years of welding. He needed a drink – fast – butMichael Baker had other plans as Ned emerged from the OR cell. "I'll walk youto your truck, Ned," Michael said, fingering the blue-black .357 Magnum inhis belt. They walked outside into the early-September Saturday morning sunshineand Michael let Ned move ahead three paces. Michael stopped, spread his legs,pulled the pistol and – Bang, Bang – Ned,36, father of two small girls, fell dead on the grass, two tidy, half-in. holesblackening the upper rear curve of his skull; his forehead, sinuses, eye sockets,nose and upper cheekbones smashed utterly by the tumbling, heavy, hollow-nosedslugs which sped out to sea to bury themselves in a North Atlantic swell. Inthe cellblock, Dr. Lord heard a muffled bam, bam, nodded knowingly and beganthe "permanent-gagging" phase of the devilish work that would make him richbeyond imagination.

The 45-year-old surgeon was given instructions to place 3½-in.-diameter,stainless-steel ring gags behind their upper and lower front teeth, securingthem with surgical wire through interstices of their upper and lower canineand premolar teeth at the 11, 1, 5 and 7 o'clock positions. This would ensuretheir mouths would heal and later be ready for any intrusion – from aflying insect to a cock – against which they were totally helpless.

It would also ensure Isabel and Moira would be unable to speak clearly, consideringtheir destination and destinies – Ushwant, East Africa, to become fieldbeasts of burden. Ushwant was a nation known to slavery for thousands of years,Dr. Lord had been informed, and Isabel and Moira would soon become a part ofthat nation's sad legacy. The only significant changes to their facial featureswere the perpetual looks of astonishment expressed by their perfectly O-shapedmouths, propped open by the 3½-in. rings. Time elapsed: one hour, 23minutes. Dr. Lord looked at his stopwatch and noted 2.57.40, two minutes, 20seconds, short of the three-hour deadline. "Nurses!" he called brusquely. Twoteams of three nurses strode in quickly and disconnected Moira's and Isabel'sIV lines, Foley catheters and sticky monitor-contact pads and wheeled the gurneysinto the adjacent cell which was done over as an ICU. Isabel and Moira wouldsleep for another three hours before waking to discover Dr. Lord's intricate,evil work. The anesthetic ensured the last memory they had was of sipping teain the dining room and feeling ill. The six nurses, all sworn to secrecy, hadsigned papers to indicate they had read patients' statements, forged over Isabel'sand Moira's signatures that appeared in the hotel's registration book, statingthey had "requested" the surgeries of their own free will to become bondagemodels and actors in the UK and US, and that they wanted to live in bondage24/7 so that they would be more attractive to their husbands and marketableto the B and D community. Two young nurses attended the two unconscious, permanently-chainedand -gagged women and pursed their lips as they drew sheets up over their nakedbodies to their collarbones.

"Why they want to be chained now is beyond me," one nurse said to the other. "Butwe're being paid for this, and chains are what they said they want, so let'sdo it. The money's right." The other nodded.

They attached chains and locks to Isabel's and Moira's collars, handcuffsand ankle shackles, securing them to the corners of their gurneys, then passeda loop of chain twice around each woman's waist and locked it underneath thecot. "A bull elephant in a bad mood could not get free of all that," the chattynurse said. Isabel and Moira slept on as the nurses reconnected their intravenouslines that coursed analgesic, antibiotic and sedative through their veins.Chains and IV tubes abounded as the nurses left the two women, silent, motionless,still unaware what had happened to them. Isabel's and Moira's IV supply bagswere nearly empty when a late-model black sports car with professional kidnappers,Catherine and Joanne, pulled up to the hotel's main entrance. Known as "Womenin Black," they were attired head to toe in the colour of the night – theirtight, braless sweaters and hip-hugging jeans displaying the shapely, muscularfigures of years of bodybuilding. "This must be the place," said Catherine,shutting the engine of the powerful little MG. "Our 'patients' are downstairs.Let's find 'em and get the hell out of here. I don't like northern Scotland – toofuckin' cold." Catherine 36, of London, and Joanne, 34, Exeter, Eng., walkedinto the hotel, found Michael and Sheila Baker talking to Dr. Lord about thesurgeries and the disposal of Ned Fianders's body in a 35-ft.-deep firepitdug for that purpose. "Hello," said Joanne to the trio, who looked as one atthe heavy firepower they packed on their hips. "I'm Joanne, this is Catherine,and we're here for Isabel Metcalfe and Moira MacPeak. Are they ready? Or canwe see them?" She caressed her pistol grip sexually. "No, they are not ready," Dr.Lord said, "and yes, you can see them, provided you put on surgical gowns."

The kidnappers had never heard of this kink before, shrugged and followedDr. Lord downstairs into the cellblock OR/ICU where a pile of green uniformssat on a small table on the left. They put on drab surgical greens and Dr.Lord escorted them into the 2nd cell on the left. The two female kidnappers,each packing a Walther PPK 9 mm semiautomatic pistol with 15-round mags and100 rounds in pouches, had been engaged by a white-slavery cartel, based ina 15th-Century Ushwanti fortress/prison, to subdue, bind, gag, crate and transporttwo women by plane to East Africa via van to Prestwick where they would meetan anonymous contact with information to board a private chartered jet withtheir cargoes – Isabel and Moira. Outside, another, larger black carwith three men inside drove up quickly, silently, and parked beside the MG.The three got out and disappeared into the shrubbery at the sides and rearof the hotel. Catherine and Joanne had been hardened by five years of kidnappingand transporting women of all ages – 18 to 75, as Catherine was alwayssaying – taken by them as "stock" for the powerful international slaveryring which employed the two. But they were hardly prepared for what they saw:Isabel and Moira were just coming out of their anesthetics and could barelysee. Isabel tried to turn her head to see where she was and heard the shink asher chain moved slightly. She tried to move her arms and could only move thema few inches in any direction. Moira was still asleep. Isabel closed her eyesagain, thinking it was all a dream. "Why are their mouths propped open likethat?" Catherine asked Dr. Lord. "They have been permanently gagged, chainedand rendered chaste by piercings, in accordance with requirements relayed tous, and me, by your parent organization," Dr. Lord said. "When will they befree to travel?" "In one day." "How are they chained?" "They have neck collars,handcuffs with a 12-in. chain and 18-in. leg shackles welded on. One, Isabel,I think her name is, was already wearing ankle shackles of a type I have neverseen before. "They are unique and a first-rate piece of work. "Their vaginashave been closed by piercing rings. A chain is attached to the lower ring whichconnects to their ankle chains and their nipples have also been pierced andchained." Catherine and Joanne winced.

"They also have received 48-G breast augmentation and surgical-steel ringgags have been used to prop their mouths open. These, too, have been surgicallyaffixed with wires through the interstices of their teeth. So, you can seethey will be ready for transport, subject to recovery from the surgery andanesthetic, which they tolerated well. Give 'em 24 hours." Catherine shiveredat the doctor's clinical commentary and Isabel shuddered involuntarily as sheheard every word with closed eyes. Moira was just coming round. "No, no, no,this can't be happening!" Isabel cried to herself. "What have they done tome? What's going to happen? And why can't I move? Where am I?" She felt tearswelling under her closed eyelids, too afraid to open them for what she mightdiscover. Her jaws and pussy hurt like hell and her chest felt unusually heavybut the morphine drip sent her back to the cool darkness of narcotic-inducedsleep. Moira's eyes rolled open and she coughed lightly through her wide-openmouth. That didn't feel right, she thought to herself, and it hurt her chest,pussy and nipples, too. "What's going on here?" she said to herself, as she,too, fell asleep again. Catherine and Joanne left the cell unbelieving whatthey just saw and heard. Two hours later, Moira and Isabel had rallied sufficientlyto open their eyes and tried to look around. Heavily chained with the sedationwearing off, they felt as though they had been run over by a MacEwan's Brewerytruck.

Moira turned her head and felt the slight chafe of her collar and an enormousmass, where her bosom used to be, under the bedsheet. She knew instantly shewas back in bondage. She tried to move her hands the few inches her chainedwrists would allow then moved her feet slightly and felt an unusual tug onher vagina. Isabel was motionless. A nurse came in and stood at the bottomof Moira's bed. "I want you to try and move your feet and legs to get the bloodcirculating to avoid clots, " she said. "Try." Moira heard and nodded her headsilently. She did not have the strength to speak yet.

She moved her feet under the sheet and felt the rustle of chain but couldnot make the connection between her movements and the tug on her vagina. Isabelopened her eyes and saw the cell's ceiling with a ring bolt just above herhead. She moved her arms a few inches and tried to move her legs but stoppedwhen the strange tugging at her vagina startled her. "Mmooo" (Moira), Isabelmoaned. The nurse looked over and saw Isabel's eyes were open but was not moving. "Wha-ooo?" (Whathappened?) Isabel was surprised at her inability to articulate. Moira turnedher head, saw her friend looking at her and knew they were in serious difficulty.They had been tricked. Their sedatives and anesthetics continued to wear offbut they could not lift the sheets with their handcuffs secured to the gurneyrails to see how their bodies had been modified, nor could they look into amirror to see what had been done to their mouths. Physical sensation was restoringslowly and by 7 p.m., less than a day since they had arrived, they were readyto be unshackled from their gurneys by the nurses. Two nurses completed thattask and left their chains in an untidy pile at the foot of each gurney butlocked 10-ft. chain tethers to their collars and to ringbolts near each cot.

Isabel and Moira were still not going anywhere. The six nurses then lookedat their written instructions, put them into the blazing hotel fireplace, gotinto their cars and drove away as dusk fell. As the shadows lengthened aroundHotel Balmoral the three men, dressed black skimasks and camouflage gear, emergedsilently from the bushes, walked to their black Mercedes-Benz and withdrewthree silencer-fitted, high-powered sniper rifles. Jogging around to the Georgian-stylebay window of the restaurant-bar, each knelt in the gathering gloom in a 15-yardarc 100 yards away from the windows. Looking at each other, they then tookaim at their pre-determined targets – Dr. Byron Lord, surgeon, and Michaeland Sheila Baker, hotel proprietors – who were dining on roast pheasantat a window table. Kneeling for stability five yards apart, their weapons angledto zero on the table's centrepiece, each marksman focused his infrared nightscopeon the pre-selected heads of the two men and attractive woman. Two secondspassed, then . . . "Shoot!" the centre man said softly, as three shots rangout as a single Thuk ! Instantly, Dr. Lord fell back,dead in his chair, as a 7.62 mm round passed through his formerly ice-cold-blue,right eye, ripped through his brain and exited through the left rear of hisskull; Michael Baker died 2.5 seconds later as the left-hand assassin's slugtore through his tuxedo, piercing his cold heart into eternal stillness, whilethe bullet from the right-hand rifleman's weapon tore the cute pug nose offhis wife, Sheila. Bright-red blood gushed down Mrs. Baker's face onto her formalblack evening gown and cleavage, dripping in a small rivulet to the floor asshe watched the three assassins walk casually into the restaurant. One strodequickly to the body of Dr. Lord and fired the remaining 14 rounds of his magazine, thuk,thuk, thuk . . . , into the surgeon's bloody face. With rimming-redvision, Sheila watched as another rifleman stepped up to her husband's body,lying four ft. away, and also emptied 14 rounds into his bloodstained whitefront.

She gasped as the third, heaviest man came up to her, still seated at thetable, and felt the cool muzzle-mounted silencer nestle against her lower lip. "Fushyock . . . ." she choked, as a brilliant yellow flash extinguished her lightsand sounds forever. Catherine and Joanne were asleep in their sumptuous bedroomsand the men had already left, as quickly and quietly as they came. They awokeand got dressed and downstairs at the time indicated in their one-page OpOrder.Arriving together in the dining room, Joanne announced: "Dinner is not beingserved. Well, these kooks have bought it. And that's a good thing, I guess.Now where's that goddam firepit again, Catherine? "Jeez, I hope we didn't forgetthe dynamite and avgas for these stiffs again like that last time." "No it'sstill in the car, Kate," Joanne replied. "Wamme go get it?"

"Yeah, let's get this shit over with while it's still dark. That friggin'hole back there is 25 - 35-ft. deep so no one is going to see the flames outto sea, anyway; too foggy. And the backhoe should still be there – atleast it better be." Three hours later the dynamited, incinerated remains ofNed Fianders, Dr. Byron Lord and Mrs. And Mrs. Michael Baker lay at the bottomof the deep, narrow firepit that was being backfilled by Catherine, directedby Joanne, with a Ford backhoe. The job done and the pit tamped down with thebackhoe's front bucket, Catherine drove the machine to the cliff, a quarter-mileaway, put a weight on the gas pedal, jumped off skilfully and the rig crashedinto the 600-ft.-deep Atlantic Ocean with four distant clangs and bangs. "Let'sgo back in," Joanne said. "I'm freezin' out here. Cor, northern Scotland iscold this time of year. And they say it's supposed to be nice up here. Ha!"

Inside the dining room, they avoided the broken glass and looked at the sceneof broken glass, messy table-linen, cutlery and flatware. Pools of congealingblood, cerebral grey matter and other human tissue stained the polished oakfloor. "Yuck, what a mess," Joanne said, diverting her head. "The OpOrd saysthe 'third wave' will be in tomorrow to clean up the place and do a thoroughwalkthrough to ensure the coppers don't sniff a trail. Now, let's go down andsee how Mrs. Metcalfe and Mrs. MacPeak – I think that're their names – aredoing." En route to the dungeon-cell suite, Catherine and Joanne paused tolisten as a van pulled into the driveway, on schedule, to drop off a pile ofspecially-cut sheets of two-in.-thick, dense, blue styrofoam and two lockingblack, fibreglass shipping crates. Another small white cube van followed, thatdriver got out and left in the first vehicle. Silence fell again. "Well, thepackagings got here," Catherine said to Joanne, as they passed the open frontdoor to look at the trunks and styrofoam. "Let's go and see Isabel and Moira." Theywalked down the nearby short flight of stairs into the cellblock, down theshort corridor and left into the cell that held Isabel and Moira. All medicalgear would be cleared out tomorrow, they knew, so they paid close attentionto their prisoners. Moira and Isabel were groggy but conscious, stretched outon their gurneys underneath lightly bloodstained sheets. Petrified, they layperfectly still, looking at the pistol-packing figures of Kate and Joanne withfear and anger. Ten-ft. chains still tethered their collars to ringbolts butthey could move their arms and legs as freely as their handcuffs and anklechains would allow – a sign that circulation had restored and the drugswere wearing off nicely. "Well, you two," Catherine said, "you're coming withus on a nice, long trip tomorrow. To some place called Ushwant." Isabel's eyesopened suddenly and tears sprang. Only three months ago she had been kidnapped,hogtied and delivered there. (See Through Night to Light)

Moira moaned softly through her gaping mouth, recognizing the name immediatelyfrom Isabel's story. "You probably have seen enough of these cells to lasta lifetime," Joanne piped in. "They give me the creeps, so I think we'll takeyou upstairs and fasten your chains to one of the beds up there. How does thatsuit?" Isabel and Moira looked at each other and nodded their assent, sadlyrecalling their stay upstairs in much more pleasant circumstances. "Right-eo,here we go," Kate said lightly, lifting Isabel's sheet to look at her piercingsand chains casually. "Cor, I hope you guys can walk because I don't feel likecarrying you all the way up there; not after what we just had to do back therein the north 40." "Can you talk?" Joanne asked Moira. "Mmnn" (no). "OK, I getthe hint." Catherine and Joanne looked round the small cell and found the keysto Isabel's and Moira's neck chains and unlocked them from the ringbolts. "Upsy," Catherinesaid to Isabel. "And careful now. You've got quite a bit of steel hanging offyou now so I don't want you to injure any of your nice parts. My, what lovelyboobs that doctor gave you girls. They must be awfully heavy, though. "Toobad he's dead."

Moira and Isabel looked at each other in shock and Isabel looked closer atMoira, realizing, with a start, her body felt the same as Moira looked. Tooafraid to look at their bodies underneath the sheets for the past several hours,both now looked at their huge, new bustlines, the added chains, rings and shackles,and gasped through their perfectly O-shaped mouths. They looked down, as salivadrooped from their gaping mouths, and could not see their feet – pendulous,48-G breasts, topped with extremely-sensitive, chained-together nipples, blockedtheir downward glances.

Both women, red with embarrassment at seeing each other's nudity for thefirst time, and in such terrifying circumstances, had to straighten their shouldersconsciously as they stood for the first time in 12 hours. Their unfamiliar,saline-filled breasts weighed five pounds each and tugged heavily at theirpectoral muscles and shoulders. Isabel's still-pendulous, new breasts wobbledagainst the chain and she felt the familiar, now-unpleasant, tug against hernipple rings. Moira's heavy breasts also swung in tandem, gracefully, sideto side, as she swung her chained legs over the edge of the gurney. "Oo-mm-ff" (ow),Moira cried, as the nipple-ring chain tugged hard at her long, sensitive nipples.Moira's slight frame now was extremely top-heavy with a 10-pound bustline --increased by four cup sizes and 12 inches -- which threw her centre of gravityway off. The breast augmentations had given Isabel and Moira larger, heavierbustlines but the implants had not significantly altered the natural teardropsymmetry or graceful sway of their lovely breasts. Isabel and Moira staggeredunder the startling, new weight of their bodies and an additional 2.5 poundsof chains and cuffs. But they regained equilibrium by leaning back againsttheir gurneys, bending their knees slightly so the chain would not tug againsttheir vaginal rings. "Time for you gals to get mobile," Joanne said cheerily. "Here,I'll lock your tethers together and you can run along upstairs," she said,unlocking their chains from the wall ringbolts and locking the ends togetherto form a 20-ft. tether between their collars. "Run, or hop, along upstairsand wait for us in the lobby; we'll be up for you momentarily." Isabel andMoira hobbled gingerly out of the cell, each holding a portion of their longtether in their chained hands, as they bent slightly at the waist to ease theirankle chains' tension on their pussy rings.

'Run along,' Isabel groaned to herself. 'Who does she think we are? I talkedto my boys like that 16 years ago.' Isabel then pledged she would get evenwith these two arrogant women at whatever cost as Catherine and Joanne embracedeach with loving kisses and caresses in the cellblock as they heard Isabeland Moira clink and rattle down the hallway. "I love the way those two lookall chained up," Catherine said to Joanne, leaning against Moira's gurney. "Kindaturns me on and I wouldn't mind seeing you like that someday. "Maybe," Joannereplied. "We'll see, once this job is over. Let's look at some of this gearhere, first, though. Wow, they really did a number on those two, didn't they?" Isabeland Moira made their painful way up the short flight of stairs, breasts jostlingand tugging, vaginal rings pulling at each gasping stride, to reach the lobbyin about one minute. The same walk would have taken 15 seconds yesterday. Reachingthe lobby, the profoundly sad strains of Renee Fleming's "September," fromRichard Strauss' 4 Last Songs , greeted them from thedining-room sound system. Isabel and Moira dropped their long neck tether tothe floor with a clatter as they looked out the open front door into the dark,northern Scotland night, saw the trunks and styrofoam and realized escape wasfutile. It had taken them a full minute to walk what otherwise would have takenseconds and they were naked, chained, gagged, miles from anywhere. The darkand cold reached their naked bodies and they shivered inconsolably. Isabeland Moira started to sob, their shoulders shaking with soft clinks of chain,their heavy breasts quaking painfully. Isabel's face, still beautiful despiteher gag-distorted mouth, turned to the dining room again as Renata Tebaldiand Carlo Bergonzi began Giacomo Puccini's incredibly beautiful duet, "Si.Mi chiamano Mimi . . . O soave fanciulla," from La Boheme .Tears started again as she recognized her favorite lovesong and stood, enthralled,her chains made instantly weightless by the timeless music that professed undyinglove.

"Brrii-nn-gg, brrii-nn-gg," the registration desk's telephone rang suddenlyat the rear of the lobby, startling Isabel out of her reverie. "Mmooofffwha!" (Whatis that?) Moira gasped, as they both turned toward the noise that interruptedthe opera music. "Brrii-nn-gg, brrii-nn-gg." Moira looked at Isabel as if tosay, 'What do we do now?' "Aaa-hhh-aaa" (I'll answer it), Isabel replied, tuggingher friend by the chain toward the desk. Isabel picked up the clumsy Scottishreceiver from the cradle with their chained hands and held it to her rightear with both hands. "HAAAA!" (help), she said, as loudly and clearly as shecould. Her cry was only heard as an exhalation. "Hello? Hello?" said the voiceat the other end. Isabel recognized Peter's voice right away. "Hello? Who'sthis?" "Ha-aaa-kkka!" (help, Peter), Isabel replied. "My name's Peter Metcalfeand I am looking for Isabel Metcalfe who should be there tonight? Can you connectme, please?" "Aahh-iiff-eee-rrr" (help us; it's me, Peter). "Blast, this mustbe a bad connection. Hello? I can't make you out. I'll call back again whenthe line is clear. Thank you. Good night, whoever you are." Click. Mmmm. Hehad hung up. Isabel stared, dumbfounded, at the receiver, as the Puccini ariasoared to its climax. She had just talked to her husband, so near yet so far;rescue could have been at hand, but he did not recognize her voice. Moira'sand Isabel's despair and plight suddenly deepened. "Ah-ha! What are you twoslaves up to with that phone?" Catherine announced from the head of the dungeonstairs. She had watched the whole thing, laughing to herself. "C'mere, Joanne,and see what these slaves have been up to." Moira and Isabel thought they wereabout to be beaten – or worse. Isabel and Moira jumped back in clattersand tugs of chain as Joanne took aim at the phone with her Walther PPK semiautomatic,slamming three rounds -- crack! crack! crack! -- throughthe set and receiver. The phone was dead. Isabel and Moira had put their cuffedhands to their ears but the crashing noise was still deafening.

Cowering now in each other's arms, they became aware they would have to callon each other's strengths and wits to live another day at the hands of thesepsychopaths. Isabel's senses reeled as she heard the term – slave – usedto describe her status for the first time. "Hllvv?" (Slave?) Isabel said, asshe shuffled painfully over to Catherine and Joanne, who were standing at thedoorway with their backs turned. Isabel pulled Moira reluctantly along behindher by the tether. The two kidnappers turned to face the chained women andIsabel's mouth worked painfully around the steel gag. "Fff-nnn-ssshhh!" (We'renot slaves!) Isabel shouted liquidly through her gaping mouth, lifting herhandcuffs and shaking her chained fists furiously at them. "Fff-nnn-ssshhh!" "There,there, Isabel," Kate said, grabbing Isabel's wrist and nipple chains firmlyto hold her arms still. "Chill! We know you have been through a lot today but,please, we request you cooperate with us for the next day or so. "It will makeour jobs easier -- and your situations less painful – otherwise, we mayhave to resort to more-drastic measures. "Tomorrow 's going to be a long dayso why don't we make the most of a good night's sleep. Have you two ever slepttogether? You're 'best buds', so I am fairly sure you have. If you haven't,you probably should get used to each other's company. I suspect you'll be closeto each other for quite some time to come." But neither Catherine nor Joannehad any idea of the strength and durability of Isabel's and Moira's friendship – infinitelystronger than the chains that joined them – nor did they gauge the depthand extent of their Gaelic determination, resourcefulness and inner strength.

The more muscular Joanne grabbed Isabel's and Moira's chain tether from thefloor and led them slowly upstairs to the room Isabel had occupied the nightbefore. The clock in Isabel's hotel room showed 11:30 p.m. as Jo. led the chainedwomen to the bed and locked their tether to the neck-collar chain Isabel hadused freely just the previous night. "Now, hop into bed and we'll get an earlystart tomorrow," Joanne said. "I'll get you a sleeping pill for a better rest.You probably have a lot of things to worry about now but it's more importantyou conserve your energy and strength for what lies ahead."

Isabel and Moira looked at each other as they pulled down the neatly-madebed together and slid awkwardly under the covers.

Catherine arrived with two glasses of water and two little white pills, handedthem to Isabel and Moira, who tilted their heads back to swallow the pillspast their gags and took drinks from the water glasses, handed back the emptyclasses and put their heads on the pillow. Catherine and Joanne snapped outthe light, closed and locked the door from the outside as Isabel's tired eyessprang wide open in the semi-dark hotel room. She saw her purse on the dressertable and knew she had a nail-file inside that might, just might, pick thelock holding their tethers to the bed. "Mm-ooo, w-waa-ff-ee" (Moira, watchme), Isabel said, as she wriggled out of bed, her ankle chain tugging painfullyat her labia. I hope this chain is long enough for me to reach, Isabel thought,as she arranged her chains and carefully eased her way to the dresser to grabher purse. Gack! ! Not quite. Moira shifted closer toIsabel's edge of the bed and Isabel had two-ft. more slack that allowed herto grab her purse. Isabel limped back to bed, sat down and looked for her nail-file.She found it, at the bottom among the other contents, including a lipstick,tissues, cigarettes, lighter, wallet, ID and a little money – and a handcuffkey. She withdrew the key and knew it would not fit anything. All their cuffswere welded and she needed a padlock key.

Undeterred, she placed the purse under the bed, where it would be found nextday by the "third wave," and went to work on the padlock in the darkness, succeedingonly in dulling the little file and reddening her fingers. She threw the little,mother-of-pearl-handled file away, unaware of its final resting spot behindthe dresser where it would be found by a police forensics team weeks later.Moira looked at her friend's despairing face and started to weep with gaspingsobs that wracked her compact, heavy-bosomed frame. They would have to acceptwhatever fate lay ahead for now. Isabel lay down and soon submitted to thepowers of the drug she had taken 10 minutes earlier. The inky darkness of sleepquickly enveloped the two.

Sunday morning dawned grey and misty over the northern coast as Catherineand Joanne unlocked Isabel's and Moira's door on the sumptuous, second floorof Hotel Balmoral. Walking over to the sleeping pair, Joanne unlocked theirchains from their collars and shook them awake. "We've gotta get going," Joannesaid. "The third wave will be here any time and we have to be gone by thattime. We've got just 15 minutes, girls, so please cooperate. " Isabel and Moiranodded sleepily. "We are going to give you two more pills – anti-anxietymedication and sedatives – that will make you a little tipsy, then sleepy," Catherinesaid. "It will help us in the next phase." Isabel and Moira doubted the explanationbut in fear of being hurt, or killed, they agreed to swallow the two pills.What little strength and clarity of mind they had recovered were soon dissipatedby the meds and, moments later, their naked, shapely bodies were the consistencyof wet ragdolls. "Perfect," Catherine said, as she lifted Moira's left arm,letting it flop back on the bed again. Catherine and Joanne then rolled Isabeland Moira onto their stomachs and blindfolded them with thin, black felt tapedover their eyes with 20 wrappings of industrial plastic black tape. "This isreally overkill, you know, Kate," as Joanne finished wrapping Isabel's head. "Yeah,I know. Three wraps of this heavy, sticky stuff would have been enough foranyone. But the OpOrd says 20. Oh well," Kate replied, as she finished the18th wrap around Moira's flopping head. The kidnappers then carried Isabeland Moira, inert, bound, gagged, and chastity-pierced, downstairs and carefullylay them on the lobby floor to work their arms down past their feet and upbehind their backs, wire-hogtie their ankle and wrist cuffs together and snapsmall locks through their nipple rings -- for the heck of it – said Joanne.They then placed the nearly-doubled up women inside the packing cases and slid16 pre-cut styrofoam sheets, with holes cut to fit over their hogtied forms,down over them, encasing them into immobility inside the 8-cu.-ft. trunks.The lids were slammed shut over the styrofoam, locks closed and the whole wrappedwith two-in.-wide nylon straps.

Prestwick Airport labels were placed conspicuously and in less than two minutes,Catherine and Joanne had Isabel and Moira loaded into the back of the cubevan and en route to Prestwick Airport – five hours away – passinga small minivan with six passengers as they left Hotel Balmoral for good. Themeds and events of the past 24 hours combined to put Isabel and Moira intoa euphoria that led to drowsiness and stupor but not unconsciousness. Theirbodies lurched as the trunks were manhandled off the van at Prestwick Airport,at 1 p.m., Sunday, Sept. 7, but they were totally unaware of where they wereor what was happening. The trunks passed through the baggage-handling area – x-raymachines had been ordered but not installed – were sorted, tied togetherand loaded onto a small, twin-engine charter jet in the general-aviation areaby strong, tattooed hands of the Prestwick baggage handlers. Isabel and Moiraawoke to black panic and bizarre sensations in their bodies as their nipplechains vibrated against them to the loud drone of the fuselage-mounted, smallRollsRoyce jet engines immediately outside the aircraft hull from where theirtrunks were anchored to the deck. Communication was impossible inside the styrofoamso they lay there quietly, softly moaning, listening and wondering what wasgoing to happen next. Minutes turned to half-hours, then hours, as the littlejet flew south across England, over the English Channel into European airspacethen due south across France to the Mediterranean, then altered southeast toUshwant, East Africa. Moira and Isabel thought they were dreaming but whenthey heard the nylon straps being cut away and the trunk lids unlocked, theywere snapped back to reality. The dense styrofoam sheets were squeaked up overtheir bodies and Catherine and Joanne's strong hands and arms pulled the twocaptives out easily and lay them on the carpeted deck to undo their painfulhogties. "Hi, Isabel and Moira," Joanne said cheerfully. "We're over the Med.now and we have about two more hours of flying time before Ushwant. Thoughtyou might like to get out and stretch your legs."

Isabel and Moira heard and felt their wires being cut away and their nipplerings unlocked before feeling sharp medical scissors cut away the black tapeholding their blindfolds in place. Their eyes unbound, they blinked hard tofocus. It took a couple of minutes before the black-garbed figures of theirkidnappers became clear. Catherine and Joanne each pulled Isabel and Moirato their feet and guided them to a pair of first-class accommodation seatsfacing each other several feet away. A long chain, rove through a ringboltbetween the chairs, would ensure they didn't stray. Isabel and Moira were seatedin the large, comfortable chairs and their collars locked with the common chain.Isabel and Moira looked at each other with open mouths and tried to get theirbearings. "No more heavy meds for you guys," Joanne advised. "Just water, icechips, antibiotics and some acetaminophen with codeine for the next coupleof hours." Catherine brought them large glasses of icewater, some powerfulantibiotics and two Tylox painkillers each. Isabel and Moira tilted their headsback, put in the pills with both hands, took a big swallow of icewater. Calmingdown with the drowsing effect of the 60 mg codeine in their painkillers, Catherinebrought each woman a hand mirror and Joanne began: "I spoke to the doctor whowas responsible, up to his death last night, for the conditions you in whichyou find yourself this afternoon. In case you have not yet made your own discoveries,this is what happened: "Saturday morning, you were drugged, taken to the cellblock where your collars, handcuffs and leg shackles, which are of tungsten-steelalloy, were welded; except your ankles, Isabel. "By the way, I have never seena pair like yours before; they are a nice piece of work. Your vaginas wereclosed by piercing rings which have been attached to your ankle chains andyour nipples, as you know, pierced and chained. "You also have received breastaugmentation and, this is kinda hard to tell you guys, your mouths are proppedopen with steel rings that also have been surgically implanted. "Catherineand I have captured and transported a large number of women, younger and olderthan you, into white slavery during the past five years .

"And we have never seen women in such extensive bondage as yours. We, asprofessional kidnappers, are trained in subduing, binding, gagging and shippingwomen for the slavery cartel that employs us and your bonds are, clearly, themost-impressive display of steel bondage we have ever seen. "Right, Kate?" "Indubitably." "Letme add," Joanne continued, "that we have observed the degree to which you haveaccepted your chains thus far – chains are forever, you know – butwe are also cognizant of the well-known Scottish characteristics of self-determination,self-reliance and inner strength that suggest to us you probably are seekingany, and all, means of escape and flight and will do what you can to seek andexercise retribution at the earliest.

"We have, therefore, forewarned your prospective buyers and I am advisingyou that you will be treated as 'extreme flight risks' on arrival and thatyour bondage may be even more severe when we arrive at Ushwant in a littleless than two hours from now. Remember, this nation has been known to the slavetrade for centuries and they invented bondage. I understand some guy wantsto buy you as 'beasts of burden', whatever that means. "Kate, do you have anythingto add?" No, thanks, Jo.," Catherine replied, "you're doing just fine. I wouldjust like Isabel and Moira to know it was a business doing pleasure with them.And I hope they have a safe and comfortable journey." The two sardonic captorsleft to head to the cockpit to radio more pre-arrival arrangements for Isabel'sand Moira's dispositions. They looked forward to their weekend off next week.Isabel and Moira stirred in their chairs and looked at each other. "Eff-eem-ff-rr-sshh?" (Extremeflight risks?), Isabel managed to slur to Moira, her eyes widening incredulously.Moira shrugged her shoulders. "How could they possibly consider us 'flightrisks'?" Isabel thought to herself. "We're thousands of miles from home, ourchains are welded, we can scarcely move, we're gagged, naked, our pussies havebeen ringed shut and we don't speak the language. How are we flight risks?"

Isabel wheezed a sigh and lifted the mirror from her lap to her face withjoined hands and looked in awe at her gaping, O-shaped mouth that expressedcontinual astonishment. She angled the mirror to peer inside her mouth andcould only see the silvery gleam of the circular gag wired to the intersticesbetween her upper and lower canine teeth and premolars. Otherwise, everythinglooked fairly normal. Moira put the mirror to her face and immediately droppedit, looking at Isabel with a mixture of despair and embarrassment. She wasproud of her Scottish good looks and could not bear to look at what that madsurgeon had done to her mouth. She placed her chained hands on her heavy breastsand felt the nipple-ring chain. She then hefted her new, 48G appendages andgasped her astonishment at their weight and size. They were going to flop,bounce and cause all sorts of back pain, now and in the future, she thoughtsadly. Her hands glided to her vagina and she gingerly traced the heavy, steelrings that pierced her labia. "Mmm," she moaned quietly, leaning back to thefull length of her neck chain. Watching, Isabel crossed her knees delicatelythen immediately uncrossed them when the rings dug into the fresh pierces.They felt for their chairbacks' release button and angled them back for a napas their long chain rasped through the ringbolt in the floor. Isabel Metcalfeand Moira MacPeak closed their eyes and dozed while the misty coast of Africaloomed on the horizon ahead. Slavery was just an hour away. "Put on your seatbelts,girls, and ensure your chairbacks are in the fully upright position," Catherineannounced moments later. "We're on the Ushwanti airfield radar and will belanding in about 25 minutes." Isabel and Moira fumbled for their seatbeltsand snapped them in place over their naked hips. They were ready. Soon, thefloor dipped, the pitch of the engine noise changed and the little jet startedto tremble and bounce as it descended through thermal layers and cloud. Thecabin darkened slightly and sunlight soon streamed through the cabin windowsagain as the altimeter unwound with the jet's descent. They knew they wereminutes from touchdown.

Their ears popped easily with their propped-open mouths and, soon, they feltthe thuds as the landing gear's wheels rolled along the dusty airfield's gravelrunway. The bouncing, lurching ride down the mile-long runway bounced theirbig boobs about painfully and Isabel and Moira had to grab them with theirsmall hands to ease the painful tugs on their nipple rings. Soon the rapidjarring slowed as the plane reached the taxiway and slowed to brake preciselyon a gravel apron. They were here. Wherever here was.

MEANWHILE . . . Four-thousand miles away, at exactly the same time, PeterMetcalfe picked up the phone in the living room of their country home in westernScotland. "Peter? It's Graham," said the voice at the other end. "Have youheard from Isabel and Moira? My wife should have called by now and I haven'theard a word. Have you?" "Graham, I was going to call you last night. I placeda call to Hotel Balmoral and all I got from the other end were some gasps andother airy sounds. I couldn't make out a single word so said I would call backlater. And when I did, after a minute, the line was dead. So I am just as puzzledas you." "Peter, if we don't hear in the next 24 hours, I think we should notifythe police. And Scotland Yard. I don't like this at all and this is not likemy Moira at all." "I agree, Graham. I'll call you first thing tomorrow, orif I hear anything before then." Right-o, Peter. 'Bye for now." Isabel andMoira looked over their left shoulders as they head a hollow metallic thunk asthe portable stairway was pushed against the jet's exit hatch. Catherine andJoanne unlocked the curved exit panel and slid it sideways. The brilliant earlySeptember sunshine of Ushwant, East Africa, bathed the interior of the aircraftand it was the last sight the captive women, still held down by their seatbelts,would see for hours.

Each sat still and silent as Catherine and Joanne again applied felt padsand 20 wraps of industrial-plastic tape over their eyes and around their brunettehair above their ears.

The kidnappers then moved in front of the two and kneeled down to lock theirhandcuff chains to their upper vaginal rings, ensuring they could not lifttheir hands above hip level. "They're ready," Joanne said. "Undo their seatbeltsand let's get them to their prospective owners." Isabel and Moira shudderedat that information but sat perfectly still. They were determined to be ascompliant as possible – to avoid a beating – but both were waitingfor the chance to escape somehow. Their present circumstance did not affordany opportunity but they were Scots -- resourceful, determined and vigilant – despitetheir blindfolds, gags, chains and shackles. "We'll get out of this somehow," Isabelsilently promised herself, while Moira hoped her friend would collaborate inthe idea she had developed in the past hour: she and, she hoped, Isabel, couldbribe one or more of their captors with sex, the only bargaining chip theyhad at the moment, to loosen a chain or leave a door unlocked. The successof the ploy was in immediate doubt, however, given the very determined naturesand single-mindedness of their captors. Anyway, it was just a thought, Moirasaid to herself, trying to ease her tension as she heard Catherine unlock herneck chain from her collar, pull it out of the ringbolt in the floor and reattachit again, allowing Isabel and herself to stand and shuffle out of the plane.Joanne and Catherine took Isabel and Moira firmly by the left upper arm andguided them up and out of their comfortable chairs toward the door to the stairway. "There're18 steps down and the angle is quite steep, Isabel and Moira," said Joanne,in the lead. "We'll keep holding your arms so you don't trip. Count them – 18 – andyou will then be on the gravel of the airstrip. There's a small air terminalbuilding here but you are not going there; I see your limousine has arrived."

Isabel and Moira took their terrified, tentative steps forward, chained togetherat the neck and their handcuffs attached to their vaginal rings, making themwalk stooped forward like convicted felons. Isabel started to descend the warm,aluminum-alloy stairs and felt the heat on the bare soles of her feet.

Four-ft. behind her, Moira followed, making a racket as the combined chatterof their ankle chains could be heard for a half-mile in the silent stillnessof the desert afternoon. Their bare, chained ankles and feet stirred littleswirls of dust in the African gravel as they clinked their way barefoot acrossthe aircraft apron to the waiting limo, guided by Catherine and Joanne. Theirdescent into slavery had begun.

Ushwant Prison, with its 15th-Century African chains, dark stone walls andhuge fortress/dungeon ramparts and buttresses, overlooked the Indian Oceanas it did for nearly 600 years. It had seen many women and slaves come andgo through its portcullis while it stood as a sinister sentinel of slavery.Mrs. Isabel Metcalfe and Mrs. Moira MacPeak were to be its latest thralls.Back in Scotland, no one at the woollen mill or in the University of Edinburghhad any idea where Isabel and Moira were – and the two women had no ideawhere they were going – as they were led to the long, low black limoat the side of the dusty, remote air terminal building on the eastern edgeof the Ushwant desert. "You get in first, Isabel, slide over; you're goingin the back seat; then you, Moira, squeeze in after her," Joanne said. Thetwo chained women slid awkwardly across the leather-upholstered back seat,their wrist chains tugging painfully at their nether regions as their barerumps squeaked over the cool, brown surface.

Catherine and Joanne reached across them to fasten seatbelts over the chainedwomen's laps, securing their handcuffs, still attached to their rings, evenmore securely. They were enfolded in darkness in the cool, expensive interiorof the slavery-cartel's expensive VIP limo and sat, leaning against each otheras best they could, for comfort and just to let the other know she was stillthere. Moira mmmppphhh ed futilely through her open mouthand Isabel turned her head to try and determine what was going on. Their blindfoldswere impossible to remove so they had no idea who might be looking at them,where they were, or what was going to happen next.

They heard the driver's side door latch open, heard someone get in behindthe wheel, with a small rustle of chain, followed by the solid, expensive-sounding whump asthe driver's door closed again. Someone was inside the vehicle with them. "Goodafternoon, ladies," a cheery African voice greeted them. "My name is Oliveand I will be your driver for the next two hours. Sit back and enjoy the trip.Do you want me to turn the radio on? OK. There's BBC-2."

The bouncy strains of the overture to Gioachino Rossini's opera, Italian Girlin Algiers , filled the car interior as Olive started the powerfulV-8 engine and they were off in a cloud of dust and fine gravel that clinkedand clattered against the fenders. "You girls are from Scotland, I understand." Olivesaid, looking in the rear-view mirror at Isabel's and Moira's astonished,blindfolded faces. "I'm told you are being sold into slavery. Well, that'sno big surprise; you're the 4th and 5th women I've driven to Ushwant prisonthis month for what they call 'reception, sale and dispatch'." Moira andIsabel looked toward each other fearfully as Olive chatted away nonchalantly. "I'ma slave, too, by the way. I know you can't see me, maybe you never will,but I'm 27, I'm chained, but obviously not as severely as you. And I evenhave clothes – jean skirt and a T-shirt today -- which is considerablymore than I had when my mother, Olivia, my two sisters and I were soldinto slavery 11 years ago.

"My ankles were chained when I was 18 years of age and I have not been ableto take a full step ever since. But I can do so many things in chained anklesthat it really doesn't bother me anymore to be chained all the time. How aboutyou two? Have you been chained a long time? "I have had the same owners forthe past nine years and they have taken good care of me," she chattered on,as the miles slipped past. "I graduated from college through correspondencecourses, majoring in English and sociology; I recently got my driver's licenceand I've been looked after well physically, emotionally and, well, sexually,too. Now, I know you can't speak so I'll just clam up for now. I'll check inwith you when we get closer to the prison."

Isabel was taken aback by Olive's articulation and candor and wondered ifthey would be treated half as well. The two-hour car ride was uneventful andIsabel and Moira, tired of tugging against their chains and trying to sliptheir handcuffs down over their wrist bones, tried to look through windowsto their sides, seeing nothing except absolute blackness assured by their blindfolds,as the big car glided effortlessly across the desert. Suddenly it jolted ontoa two-lane, paved coastal road and Isabel and Moira lurched about like marionettesagainst their seatbelts and chains. A smooth and even hour's drive later, theynoticed the air temperature had cooled somewhat; they must be nearing the ocean,Isabel thought, feeling a tepid dampness on her body that the limousine's airconditioning could not dispel. They felt the car going uphill and, suddenly,brake to a gentle stop. Darkness and ocean mist swathed the enormous walls,buttresses and iron portcullis of Ushwant Prison that barred the limo's wayto the gravel courtyard inside. Two Ushwanti guards walked around the car,glanced in at Isabel and Moira, checked Olive's papers, driver's licence andregistration and signalled the driver to enter the courtyard.

The barred gateway creaked open, the limo moved forward and the grindingcrash of the portcullis closing behind them with a solid clang told Isabeland Moira they were indeed behind bars – their first-ever imprisonment – andthey were sorely, deeply afraid. "End of the road, guys," Olive chirped. "Here,I'll help you out." Olive got out easily, despite her ankle chains, openedIsabel's door, unlocked her neck tether, unbuckled her seatbelt and helpedher out of the vehicle by her shoulder and handcuff chain; she then clinkedaround the vehicle and assisted Moira the same way. The two Scotswomen stood10-ft. apart, looking blindly in opposite directions, while Olive clinked backinto the limo, turned around, drove up to the gateway, stopped while it clankedand creaked open and drove away into the African night. Isabel Metcalfe andMoira MacPeak stood alone in the middle of the large, gravel courtyard, silent,chained, gagged and blindfolded. Moira suddenly knelt in front of Isabel andput her head near Isabel's chained hands.

"Ss-ff-hh-ee, Ifff-lll" (it's my face, Isabel), she said, as Isabel feltaround Moira's head with her close-chained hands to find seams in the blacktape. She found the top two wraps and started picking with her index fingernails.In about 10 minutes, Moira was unblindfolded but still unable to see clearly.As her vision restored, she was able to unwrap Isabel's blindfold and the twostood, blinking, in the gathering gloom. They then saw two armed guards walkingtoward them and they recoiled in their chains.

"Oh, no!" Isabel said to herself. "Ohmigod!!" Moira thought. "This is it;we're lost, doomed and forgotten!" Lost and doomed? Yes. Forgotten? No, indeed.For, exactly at that time, Graham MacPeak and Peter Metcalfe were making plansto drive to Hotel Balmoral, near Cape Wrath, where their wives had been justtwo days ago. In the East African prison, meanwhile, the big, burly Ushwantiguards each took the new slaves firmly by the right arm -- they were informedthese two were "flight risks" – and led them toward a small stone stairwellset in the 25-ft.-thick stone walls that overlooked a dark, moonless seacoastlike silent sentinels of a long-bygone era.

The old oak door creaked open and Isabel and Moira staggered inside and uptwo steep flights of hewn-stone stairs, their chains making a fearsome, chatteringclangor that would wake the dead. The cling, ring, clang, shang,clang, shing of their ankle chains shattered the eerie silenceand echoed down the long narrow passageway, lit by feebly-guttering oil lampshere and there, until they came to a cellblock with long banks and rows ofnew, white-painted steel-barred cells facing each other. "You here, and you,over there," one of the guards ordered, as they stopped Moira and Isabel atmid-stride in a long, stone corridor between two rows of cages. Isabel wasturned to her left and Moira right into cells that faced each other acrossthe 10-ft.-wide passageway.

Each newly-constructed cell, equipped only with a small metal toilet, a cotand small table, was well-equipped with additional chains and shackles – asif the Scotswomen needed to be bound even further (not) – and Isabeland Moira were told to walk in, turn about and face each other. Fear and anxietyetched into the astonished looks on their faces. "Stand still!" the other guardordered in a British sergeant-major's voice from the corridor. Isabel and Moirastood at attention, hands cuffed by 12-in. chains to their nether-region rings.The two guards then entered the cells and locked heavy chains to their collars,each handcuff and each ankle shackle and passed loops of chain around eachwoman's waist, locking all securely in place. The guards ensured all six chainswere fastened securely to individual ringbolts, double-checked the locks ontheir cuffs, grunted, left the cells and slammed the solid-barred celldoorsbehind them. Isabel and Moira, bound as never before with 15 pounds of heavysteel chain, were absolutely helpless. But the women, aged 35 and 33, werestrong and fairly athletic – bowling, walking and hiking in Scotlandin their spare time an age ago -- and Moira was the first to move.

The slim, busty brunette took a tentative half-step to the rear of her 8-X 10-ft. cell and her chains bunched up everywhere, nearly tripping her asshe collected a bunch of them to sit on the edge of the thin mattress. Isabel,watching her chained friend's progress, did the same and they sat, and sat,staring at their cells, their fearsome surroundings – neither had seenthe inside of a jail, let alone a prison – and looked at each other inshock, anger, dismay and fear.

Their wrists were still chained to their upper vaginal rings and they couldhardly move. Sleep would elude them tonight. "Ooo-uuu-aaa-hhh!! Moira criedout in despair. "Ggg-mmm, eee-lll-eee!!" (Graham, help me) she cried, sobsgasping through her gaping mouth. Isabel's tears trickled off her chin ontoher enormous breasts as she realized she and her friend had sunk to the deepestdepths of despair and enslavement. Isabel groaned aloud when she realized suddenlythat she had encouraged Moira to explore steel bondage as a sexual sidebar – nowso long ago. Moira looked at her friend's pain and her eyes lightened everso slightly as she tried to force a meagre smile past her steel-gagged mouthwith its surgically-altered interior.

Isabel nodded tacit acknowledgment of her friend's understanding and bothpulled themselves gingerly up onto their mattresses, turned their heads awayand dozed in the twilight of their cellblock. "Good morning, you two!" anotherinfectious, African voice called out, too loudly for either Moira or Isabel. "It's6:30 a.m. of a Wednesday morning and time to shake out the cobwebs, get mobile,pardon the pun, and on with the day. "My name's Olivia, Olive's mother," saidthe statuesque, beautiful, 40-something African woman, standing in front ofMoira's cell in three-piece business suit and chained ankles. Two-ft. of grey-silverchain joined her shapely ankles but she appeared and acted as though she wasentirely free. "I'm looking after your sale today. We are expecting some 20or 30 buyers to look at you today and make bids to purchase you. But first,I have to give you these antibiotics to ensure your bodies are fighting offany infection and I have combs, brushes, some makeup and one mirror for youto doll yourself up before the Order of Business begins at 9:30." Olivia askedIsabel and Moira to step up to the bars of their cell doors so she could unlocktheir 12-in. handcuffs from their vaginal rings, which she did, and passedthem their makeup kits, combs and brushes through the bars. She passed themone large white pill and glass of water each and Isabel and Moira tilted theirheads back, put the pills in and swallowed them with two gulps of the fresh,cool spring water Olivia had given them. The powerful antibiotics coursingthrough their bodies would ensure they would be infection- and disease-freefor the foreseeable future. "You've got one hour to get yourselves presentable;slaves are always kept naked so don't expect any clothing today or, most probably,for the rest of your lives," the business-suited Olivia said darkly. Isabelnoted Olivia's trim ankles were chained in expensive, chrome-plated shacklesthat limited her stride to 20-in. "I'll be back about 7:30 to take you to breakfast," shesaid, as she clinked and clattered her way back down the passageway. It soundedto Isabel and Moira like the condemned prisoners' last meal but they lookedat each other and opened their cosmetics bags, dumping their contents ontothe mattress and began applying lipstick, eyeliner, eyebrow pencil and other,quality products to their faces.

Their chains chattered and rustled quietly as they made their faces up asattractively as they could. Isabel, looking at her gagged face in the handmirror, examined the results of her well-practised makeup technique and wasreasonably satisfied, although she thought her lipstick made her mouth lookmore garish than it already was.

"Eee-Mooo" (here, Moira), Isabel called, waving the hand mirror at her friend.Isabel slid the mirror across a 10-ft. corridor and watched as it slid quicklyunder the bars of her friend's cell. Moira picked up the mirror and began hertime-honored ritual for the first time in chains. In a half-hour, both womenhad brushed and combed their hair into neat, conservative 'dos, were made upand listened as their stomachs growled for food. Ten minutes later, Olivia'schains rattled musically on the stone of the cellblock floor as she walkeddown to unleash the slave women and take them to breakfast, on schedule, at7:30 a.m. The sun was well up, warming the cool, damp interior of Ushwant prison,as Olivia unlocked Isabel's and Moira's six heavy chain tethers and escortedthem to the prison dining area. Isabel and Moira, thoroughly astonished, wereseated at a well-appointed table for two, complete with white linen, Africanviolets, British flatware and sterling silver cutlery – settings morefor royalty than slaves – and they looked at each other in wonder. Howwould they eat, anyway, with their mouths gagged open? Would all their mealsbe like this? Or was this just a softening-up for a far-worse fate? A white-jacketedwaiter arrived with a trayful of orange juice, large bowls of yogurt, semi-liquidcream of wheat, some pureed fruit and steaming Twinings tea, which they detectedright away. He placed each dish in front of Isabel and Moira -- who thoughtfor a moment they were in the Savoy -- and walked away silently. The two womenlooked at their breakfasts and dug in, their handcuffs hindering them onlyslightly, as they struggled not to choke on their juice and yogurt. The key,they learned, was to keep their heads slightly back, hold their breaths andtake small swallows. It took them a while but they were able to ingest theirjuice, then yogurt, followed by the cream of wheat and tea. They tried to savortheir cups of tea in chained hands but could not get in the mood; they werestill too afraid of what lay ahead.

The waiter reappeared, refilled their teacups and disappeared again. Isabeland Moira sipped at their tea in disbelief at this display of civility in suchbarbarity – this irony could only get worse, they suspected – butthey took best advantage of the delicious tea and breakfast. Olivia reappearedand said they would have 10 minutes to go to the bathroom in preparation forthe morning events. Isabel and Moira rose as one from the table, their anklechains tugging against their pussy rings, and clinked and clashed behind Oliviaas she took them to a bathroom down the hallway from the dining room. Isabeland Moira went in, relieved themselves awkwardly around their pussy rings andchecked their appearances in the bathroom's tall mirrors. Isabel thought shelooked like a fantasy dream woman. Moira was aghast at her blatant sexuality,with "everything on display," particularly her big breasts and red-lipped,open mouth these are powerful invitations to any man – or woman -- shethought suddenly. Her sex-for-freedom gambit flashed back to mind for an instant.

THE AUCTION "Time's up, girls," Olivia called from outside. "Let's get amove on." Isabel and Moira turned, looked at each other, forced a stoic smileat one another, exited the bathroom and followed Olivia again to a small auditoriumwith rows of stacking chairs arranged in a shallow arc in front of a raisedplatform with two sturdy chains hanging down from ceiling-mounted ringbolts.The three women's ankle chains made a fearsome clatter as they mounted the10-ft.-square platform. "You're centre stage," Olivia said, as she guided themto the centre of the plywood stage. "Stop here." She locked the chains ontotheir collars and Isabel and Moira would have to stand for the next two hourswhile they were viewed and questioned by prospective buyers from around theworld. Olivia clinked casually over to the side of the platform and adjusteda microphone.

At her signal, the buyers started to trickle in and Isabel and Moira avoidedtheir glances, comments and stares, preferring to look at the floor, the ceiling,their hands or each other. After 10 minutes, a total of 40 buyers – 32men and eight women – had been seated and Olivia began:

"Good morning, ladies and gentlemen. Welcome to Ushwant prison. My name isOlivia and I will be the auctioneer and sales agent for the two fine specimensyou see here. "Isabel, on your left, is 35 years of age, a mother of two, well-educated,physically fit and is chained, rendered chaste, gagged and shackled in accordancewith standard operating procedures of the slavery organization that owns meand operates out of this prison. "This well-endowed Scotswoman who, incidentally,was chained in those extraordinary ankle chains she is wearing before she wasobserved by us and kidnapped, will be an asset to any household or institutionin Africa, Europe, Great Britain, the United States or anywhere in the world. "TheScottish work ethic is renowned for its perspicacity and she is, therefore,highly recommended to your discernment. Bidding for Isabel starts at 500,000pounds sterling, ladies and gentlemen. Now, Isabel's equally well-endowed colleague,Moira, is a 33-year-old mother of two, a Scottish millworker, physically fit,with a clever, agile mind, apparently, and she also is chained, shackled andgagged in accordance with the SOPs and requirements of this prison. She alsowas chained before seen by our agents and has taken well to her steel bondage.Bidding for Moira also starts at half-a-million pounds sterling. They madebe sold singly or together and I am recommending them to you as a 'matchedpair'. "Please use the numbered cards you were given to enter your bids whichmust be written on the pads that have been provided. This will preclude anyconfusion, shouting and cross-bidding and will improve efficiency as well asyour satisfaction with our administrative procedures. Thank you for your attention.If there are no questions, then, I am very pleased now to open the floor toaccept bids, starting at 1,000,000 pounds for the pair, 500,000 pounds foreither Isabel or Moira, of Scotland."

Isabel and Moira had never been assessed as commodities for purchase andwere amazed at the stellar prices called out by Olivia. They also wonderedat her choice of noun to describe their work ethic. "No. 138," Olivia said. "Five-hundredand 10-thousand pounds for Moira." "No. 88, 515,000 pounds for Isabel. "No.44, the woman at the far left, one-million pounds for the pair. "No. 9, one-million,ten-thousand pounds for the pair." Pause. "Turn them around, please, " a culturedvoice called from the rear. "Please turn around, girls," Olivia asked. Moiraand Isabel shuffled around, their chains clinking and swaying, nearly tiltingthem off balance as their breasts swayed and bobbed invitingly. Murmurs ofadmiration and appreciation arose from the small crowd and Isabel and Moirablushed crimson. "Have they been beaten, Olivia?" a woman asked. "I see nomarks." "No, no. 44, they have not; they have been very compliant." "Turn 'em'round agin," asked an American man with a Texan drawl. "Purty please? "Anybrands on 'em -- like my Longhorns back home?" "No, they are unmarked. Butthey can be branded if the buyer wishes to place his or her monogram or cipheron them." Isabel and Moira turned around, unbidden, and, a strange, eroticmood overtaking them, placed their hands at hip level, pulling their handcuffstaut, to display their ringed and chained pussies. Gasps of astonishment frommen and women alike arose from the audience "No. 45, one-million, one-hundred-thousandpounds." The auctioneer paused to gauge the audience's hushed reaction of softwhistles, gasps and murmurs. Olivia looked around. "Any further bids, please?Any further bids? "Going once, going twice . . . sold to no. 45, Isabel andMoira, of Scotland, for 1,100,000 pounds sterling, payable today." Ladies andgentlemen, this transaction has been completed. The gentleman with card no.45 is requested to meet with me and the witnesses in the office just next doorto sign the agreement of sale. "You are welcome to come onto the stage andchat with Isabel and Moira while refreshments are being readied for you inthe dining room. Thank you. No. 45, please?" Individually and in pairs andthrees, members of the audience walked onto the stage to look at Moira andIsabel who had nowhere to turn. "Where are you from?" a woman of Isabel's ageasked Moira. "Ffo-lnd" (Scotland), Moira replied, looking away. "Are thosebeautiful breasts yours? Or are they implants?" a man, in his 50s, asked Isabel.

"Hrr-mm-pp-tt-ff . . . nn-tt-rrtt-bgg" (they're implants . . . and they'retoo big), Isabel replied. "Where did you get those special ankle chains, Isabel?" anotherwoman asked. "I don't see any locks, rivets or bolts. How are they secured?" "Hh-dd-nn-tt-cc-mm-nnfff,vvrr" (they don't come off, ever) Isabel sighed, looking away. A variety ofother questions, ranging from sex in bondage to the Scottish work ethic, keptIsabel's and Moira's minds busy and their mouths working as they politely gaspedand slurred their answers to each well-dressed person's questions, maintainingrebellious eye contact with their questioners throughout. They feigned theirairs of respectfulness to avoid beatings that they feared would follow if theybehaved otherwise. At last, the question period ended, Olivia reappeared witha handsome, 30-something African man and two unbound female assistants andsaid: "Isabel and Moira, Sheikh Abbadi is your new owner. Your sale has beentransacted and finalized and I am now empowered to turn you over to him. Youare now his property. Sheikh, here is the key to their collar chains. Isabeland Moira are yours. Good day." With that curt summation, Isabel's and Moira'snew lives as beasts of burden were about to begin. Meanwhile, in northern Scotland,Graham and Peter had just arrived at Hotel Balmoral to do investigate the disappearanceof their wives three days ago. They found the hotel cold, dark, empty and locked,and decided to contact the Northern Constabulary, Inverness. They discussedwhat they would have to do to rescue their wives from fates and places unknownand when they arrived home three hours later, Peter and Graham had decidedthey would call to request an appointment with the chief constable. With Grahamon the extension, Peter phoned the police offices at Inverness and was connectedto a helpful male voice in the section that investigated terrorism, organizedcrime, smuggling and kidnapping. By turns, Peter and Graham explained the mysteriousdisappearance of their wives four days ago from Hotel Balmoral and added thatthey would like to come to the offices to make formal statements and requesta formal investigation.

Insp. Mackay informed them he would be glad to meet with them to discussthe case further which, he added, would likely receive priority attention fromMI-5 and Interpol.

The inspector's administrative assistant called back next day to set up anappointment for the following Monday morning, at 9 a.m., to receive any andall information they could provide to assist the investigation which wouldbegin promptly afterward, he assured.

Peter and Graham booked off work from their employers and planned their tripto Inverness after the weekend. They spent a restless 48 hours and by the timethey were en route to the police offices, the trail leading to the whereaboutsof Isabel Metcalfe and Moira MacPeak had become more tortuous: Sheikh Abbadihad taken the two women, by limo, to his hidden, fortified ranch, completewith dungeons, a company of well-armed and -trained prison guards and a throngof female slaves and attendants, where he planned to turn his latest acquisitionsinto field beasts of burden – yoked to sugar-cane carts they would haulfrom the fields to warehouses, cutting cane, picking rocks and plowing fieldsby hand – for the rest of their natural lives. Isabel and Moira wereblindfolded again and once again had no idea where they were going as theyheard and felt the limousine drive off the paved coastal road onto a winding,rough gravel byway, the only way into and out of Abbadi's palatial propertiesin a semi-arid region of the desert, two hours from Ushwant prison and threehours from the capital city. "Isabel and Moira, you are my property now," saidSheikh Abbadi, as the limo made its way to his palace from the prison. "I havepaid an enormous sum -- more than 1 million pounds -- to acquire you and Ihave been advised you are 'extreme flight risks'. You can expect, therefore,that your present bondage will remain and you will be chained at night to precludeany attempt at escape. It will not be as harsh as you recently endured at Ushwantprison but the additional chains you will wear, day and night, will deter anypossibility of you wandering away." The women looked toward him and were silent,incredulous, that an innocent experiment with steel bondage at home had ledto these depths of depravity and servitude so far away.

AT THE RANCH

Two more hours of idle chat between owner and slaves helpedpass the time as the limo drove south along the coast then inland a short distanceto arrive at dusk at the main gate of Sheikh Abbadi's farm and residence. Twoturbanned armed guards in combat gear salaamed as the sleek, black car drovequietly inside the compound and the chain-link fence gate, topped with barbedwire, was closed and locked securely as the vehicle drove a short distanceto the cellblock that would house Isabel and Moira for many weeks and monthsto come. Their accommodation was a squat, one-storey rectangular bunker, witheight-ft.-thick walls and roof whose interior had been done over into two largecells, each with a separate barred-door entrance opening onto a short corridor.From the white-painted stone exterior, barred windows and fortified casematesoverlooked the courtyard that surrounded the little cellblock and guard towersat strategic points along the wired security perimeter were used to keep aclose eye on the two women, still considered "extreme flight risks" by theircaptors. Despite the extravagant security precautions, Isabel's and Moira'scells were comfortably appointed: Included were electricity, a three-piecebath, small bedroom, kitchenette, complete with range and stocked refrigerator,and living space as well as barred windows and smaller casemates that lookedout onto the compound courtyard and other farm buildings. Ringbolts were securelyfitted into all walls of the women's newly-refurbished apartments and theircaptors had installed five long chains, fastened securely by ringbolts throughthe concrete living-room wall, that ensured they could be chained anywhere,anytime, giving them a 30-ft. radius of movement. Despite their chains, however,they would be living in relative comfort. Sheikh Abbadi and his two femaleassistants escorted the still-blindfolded Isabel and Moira into their new quartersand each woman's eyes were unwrapped only once they were locked inside theirapartments.

Isabel's and Moira's collars were then locked to a 30-ft. chain that wasfastened to a ringbolt on the stone wall above their beds and they were advisedthey would be branded tomorrow at 12 noon.

Isabel and Moira were chained in separate cells but their thoughts were unitedas they struggled to make sense of the whirlwind of events that led to theirincredible journey and introduction to slavery and bondage so far from home.Everything had happened so fast – they had not had enough time to thinkabout let alone come to terms with – their slavery. Thoughts of theirhusbands and home intruded as the two lay in open-mouthed silence, staringat the rough-stone ceiling and walls that surrounded them. What would Grahamand Peter be doing at this time? Could they have any idea where they were?How would they rescue us from this fortification in which we are so securelychained? And they insist on calling us "extreme flight risks!" The possibilityof engineering their escape from captivity seemed extremely remote to bothof them, Isabel thought, considering their circumstances: we are kept nakedand chained 24 hours a day, we do not know where we are, we neither speak norunderstand the native language, I doubt we could even bribe the guards withour bodies – the list goes on. Isabel and Moira lay back on their comfortablesingle beds, fingering their chains sadly, feeling the cool resoluteness ofthe bonds against the warm feminine flesh of their necks, breasts, wrists,nether regions and ankles. In the dim silence of their bedrooms, their fearswere overcome by a strange, erotic contentment and perverse sense of securityenforced by the 2.5 pounds of steel attached to them by unseen hand and unknownmethod. Moira rolled over onto her stomach, chains rattling, to try to forgetthe day's events but was immediately thwarted by her heavy 48-G breasts. Sheturned again on her back and held her wrist chains at hip level, wondering,gazing into nothingness as she drifted into slumber. Isabel, who had been dozing,awoke with a start as she felt her chains warming up while a glowing iridescencebathed her shackles and bonds.

Moira, whose chains also were being transformed, slept through the strange,otherworldly event. Isabel, who had her chains first placed on her during analien encounter in Scotland three months ago, was about to be revisited bycommunications from the wayward Venusian spacecraft. (See Through Night toLight) Isabel pinched herself to make sure she was awake and stared, alone,wide-eyed and open-mouthed, as she heard a telepathic message, with a strangeelectronically-feminine lilt:

"Isabel Metcalfe, this is Venusian spacecraft DDE224-A. We intercepted youand your vehicle at a point in rural Western Scotland three Earth moons agoduring our survey of life-forms on your primitive planet. You were restrained,examined, assessed and released with your breast and ankle bondages in placeas we saw fit following our examination. "Your bonds are of Venusian originand, thus, are unable to be removed by any conventional earthly means. Youwill be interested to know they provide us with a beacon that indicates tous your whereabouts at all times. "That is why your ankle chains and the restof your shackles – and those of your friend, Moira MacPeak – wereglowing just a moment ago as we located you with our positioning systems. "Sincewe last met, we have seen that you and your colleague have become accustomedto, and apparently have enjoyed, wearing steel bondage continuously. "We willreport this curious anomaly to our headquarters when we return to Blintz, ourhomeport, 200 light-years from Earth. In this respect, we have taken the liberty,pardon the pun, to alter the atomic structure of your crude man-made chainsso that they match the material and fabrication of the Venusian shackles youwere fitted with earlier. "We hope you will be pleased to know your presentchains now will be with you always. As you appear to enjoy steel bondage, Iam sure you will appreciate this small gesture and token of our appreciationfrom all of us in DDE224-A. "Good night."

Isabel was aghast at the communication and looked about frantically to tryand believe it did not just happen. These misunderstandings of flight riskand mistaken enjoyment of their bondage were taking on cosmic proportions.Their situation had deepened and the women were unprepared for what was tocome next. Isabel's first conscious moment was to feel the shackles on herwrists and neck to confirm what the Venusian voice had told her. She shudderedin disbelief as she felt for the original welded seams and could not find themin the dim light. She reached over to snap on the bedside table light and sawthat, indeed, all her chains, rings and shackles had been transformed intothe same, implacable steel-grey form of her alien ankle chains. The welds weregone and now, seamless bands of steel gripped her neck and wrists as well asher ankles. She wondered if Moira was awake and panicking as she was but Moiradrowsed on, unaware what had happened to her steel. She would make her owndiscoveries in the morning. Isabel put this sudden turn of events quickly outof her head – there was just too much going on at the same time – andtried to fall asleep. She tossed and turned for a few moments, trying to getused to the strange, new weight on her chest and the reality of the permanencyof her shackles until, finally, sleep overcame her. The Ushwanti Septemberdawn broke bright, hot and muggy as sunlight streamed into Moira's and Isabel'stidy little bedrooms in their cellblock in Sheikh Abbadi's palace compound.Moira awoke first and swung her legs out of bed, feeling the familiar, nowslightly erotic tugs of her chains on wrists, ankles and pussy. The metallicchatter of her chains sounded different to her but she was unaware of the bizarre,otherworldly events overnight that forever proscribed her freedom. She toohad been permanently chained but was still unaware of the transformation. Isabel,too, swung her legs out of bed, only too aware of the implacability of hersteel bondage and their lifelong permanence, and made her way into the livingroom as far as her 30-ft. chain tether would allow. She could open her frontdoor but could not unlock the barred door that faced her. She heard Moira rattlingher way to her front door and, soon, the two were looking at each other. "Moo-oo,wr-chnd-fr-gd-nmw, ll-ch ach-yr-chns!" (Moira, we're chained for good now,look at your chains), Isabel called to her friend, signalling her to look atand feel her chains. Moira looked at her cuffs and her eyes opened wide. "Whaa?Haa? Whaaus, Iffbull" (Why? How? Why us, Isabel?) Isabel shrugged her shouldersand tried to indicate she would explain later. She made writing motions withher chained hands, suggesting she would try and get her hands on a pen andpaper to tell her what had happened the night before. The two women stood intheir doorways, looking at each other as they tugged and pulled at their chains,trying futilely to push the cuffs up off their necks or down their wrists andankles. They failed utterly.

They were on snugly and for good. Time passed and they clinked their sadways back into their living rooms to wait. And wait. No one came for them.They walked heavily to the kitchen, dragging their neck tethers with both hands,dropping them with a clash of links to open their small refrigerators. Theysaw a variety of fruit drinks, yogurts, rice pudding and pureed African concoctionsthey could not describe. Each took a small bottle of water and yogurt for breakfastand carefully tried to swallow the liquid and creamy dairy product – whichhad been spiked with Vuka-Vuka , a powerful African herbalaphrodisiac – through their gagged-open mouths. They were getting betterat it and both were relieved they were able to accomplish breakfast withoutgagging or spitting up. Isabel went into the bathroom to freshen up with thequality cosmetics and other feminine accessories that the captors had stockedand finished by brushing her hair with both hands. Looking fairly presentable,despite the lack of a good night's sleep, she went back into the living roomto commiserate with her friend, Moira, who had been unlocked from her celland was waiting for her inside Isabel's living room. Together, they sat ona small couch and looked out the barred window as they watched male and femalefield hands, young and old, pushing or hauling carts and equipment into thenearby canefields for a day under the blistering sun. Looking away at the grimreminder of their future, Isabel tuned the nearby radio to the BBC World Serviceand their situation became almost normal, just for a moment. Isabel and Moiralooked at each other's bonds carefully and saw they were identical in everyway now. BBC newscasts, at 10 and 11 a.m., had no information about their plightand they considered themselves lost women. At 12 noon, two armed guards presentedat the door and Isabel and Moira rose submissively to greet them. It was tooearly, Moira thought, to begin her sex-for-freedom ploy as the guards roughlyunlocked their tethers and re-chained their neck collars together with a 6-ft.steel tether. They were led away, out of their cellblock and across the courtyardto a medical building where they would be branded. Isabel, unlocked from hercolleague, was led into the small medical room, while Moira waited outside.Isabel was shocked to see a branding iron, with a white-hot, one-in.-squaretip, protruding from a small brazier nearby.

A tall, thin black man, in a white lab coat, sprayed topical antisepticon Isabel's left breast as her burly guard held her arms firmly behind her,pulling her wrist chain firmly into her waist. He then donned heavy blacksmith'sgloves, withdrew the iron from the fire and plunged it for the count of fiveseconds into her left breast's upper inner curve. The antiseptic spray alsohad anesthetic qualities and she felt only a slight burning sensation onlyas the roast-pork smell of her scorched flesh rose to assail her sense of smell.The medical man quickly withdrew the branding iron, put it back into the brazierand gave Isabel a bottle of alcohol with instructions to keep the site bandagedclean and dry at all times for three days. Isabel now was permanently markedwith a one-in.-square Ushwanti ideogram which said she was a "slave - beastof burden." Isabel looked at her branded breast and noticed the fine, cursivework of the brand that forever named her slave to whoever looked at her amplebosom. The guard escorted Isabel to the waiting area and Moira was hauled in,branded, quickly, quietly and efficiently in the same spot and both women wereescorted back to their cells, holding their left breasts in both hands, waitingfor the pain to set in. "The rest of the day is yours," the guard said, ashe locked Isabel and Moira together in Isabel's apartment, still chained bythe neck. They took care looking after each other's brands for a few hoursand enjoyed each other's company for supper that night.

With tender breasts and heavy shackles on their bodies, the powerful aphrodisiachad already begun to work and their dreams that night were of their eroticlovemaking with their husbands back in Scotland. Isabel and Moira cuddled eachother in their chains and the thought of sex was never far away. Moira wastempted to snuggle close to her friend's breast but pushed the thought away.She could never be the sexual aggressor, she thought, least of all with herbest friend. They stayed chained to each other until next morning when theirfirst day in the fields would begin.

THE SEARCH BEGINS

Thousands of miles away, Graham and Peter had finished giving their statementsto the northern Constabulary and an investigation team was being assembledto scour the grounds of the now-vacant Balmoral Hotel with its infamous recenthistory. A careful screening of the bedrooms would turn up Isabel's hastily-thrownnailfile which she had used to try to open a lock and a discarded, bloodstainedhemostat in the dungeon cell that had served as Dr. Lord's operating room theprevious weekend. The trail leading to the kidnapped women's whereabouts hadbeen established. More dogged police work, information-sharing and cooperationwith Interpol would reveal to Graham and Peter that their wives had, indeed,been kidnapped by an international slavery cartel operating out of a long-vacantprison in Ushwant, East Africa, and that patience, cooperation, cooperationand diplomacy at high levels, as opposed to armed force, would be the preferredcourses of action to secure their release. "Patience? My arse," said Peterdisgustedly to Graham, when the chief constable of the Scottish Northern Constabularytold them what the next steps would be. "Those bloody boffins would take months,years, to get anywhere and I am not prepared to wait that long." Graham andPeter's sons were both in the Royal Navy's Special Boat Service and, despitetheir late-teenaged years, they had two years each of commando training andaccess to some high-tech weaponry and other commando hardware that would beuseful in the expedition they had in mind. Graham and Peter thanked the chiefconstable for the time and effort of his department and drove home to hatchtheir own plan. Once they located their wives, they would mount their own commandoraid and extract their loved ones from captivity. Finding they would be thefirst order of business, however, and Graham and Peter agreed to convene ameeting between them and their four sons as soon as possible. The next day,however, Moira and Isabel were awoken by two young Ushwanti women who wouldtake them to be yoked to the canefield wagons -- the most-despised job on thefarm. The young black women looked sadly at the two Scottish captives, sexyand beautiful despite their haggard looks and lack of sleep, and motioned for them to get out of bed.

Isabel and Moira rose as one, entered the bathroom as a pair and took turnson the toilet and freshening up slightly, annoyed at their chains that hinderedand clattered at the least movement in the small bathroom. "Wu-hv-tt-pln-nscpah,Iffbl!" (We have to plan an escape, Isabel!), Moira whispered to her friendin the bathroom. "Eff, lfts-rry-nn-gt-sm-pprr frsff." (Yes, let's try and getsome paper first), Isabel replied, thinking they may be able to smuggle outa note. Moira nodded and they walked out to join their attendants. One youngwoman handed both captives a large bottle each of sunscreen and motioned theyshould put it on each other to protect their bodies from the harsh equatorialsun. She then locked a tether to the centre link of their neck tether and escortedthem out of their cellblock, across the wide courtyard to an open buildingthat housed carts, farm implements, a blacksmith's shop and other machinery.Their yokes, two, four-ft.-long, three-in.-diameter poles with strategically-placedcuffs, waited for them outside the toolshed. Moira and Isabel were unchainedfrom each other and began coating each other's bodies with the sweet-smellingsunscreen. Isabel did Moira's back and then turned and let her friend do herback and shoulders. Then both slathered their faces, chests and legs, turningtheir bodies the color of a shiny pearl that would change to a golden brownunder hours of exposure each day from the merciless sun. When they were done,the young women placed the captives' chained hands at their waists and slidthe thick, polished hardwood poles in front of their bent elbows slid themacross the small of their backs. They quickly snapped the cuffs closed justabove each elbow and walked them toward their carts, stopping them in frontof the two pairs of cart-tongues. They were then turned around, with theirbacks toward the cart, and the ends of their yokes were bolted to each endof the tongue and each sturdy 2½-in. bolt tightened down securely witha socket wrench, fastening each woman to a 4- X 8-ft. cart.

They were now ready to go to work in the fields. Their female escorts reappearedwith two pairs of African sandals and strapped them to their captives' feet.They informed them they would bring them water at 10 a.m., 12 noon and 2 p.m.and that their workday would run from 8 a.m. - 4 p.m., daily, Monday - Friday,with most weekends off.

This schedule came as a minor shock to Isabel and Moira who had steeled themselvesto be worked endlessly; their hours in the field were comparable to a nearly-civilizedwork week in the UK. But the similarities ended there as their African captorspointed the direction of the fields to them and said they had 15 minutes toget into position to have their carts loaded with sugar cane for the day'sprocessing. Isabel and Moira looked at each other and tried to shrug theirshoulders in mute acceptance of their assignment. Their escorts left them aloneand they turned their carts awkwardly toward the canefields and began pullingtheir large, light-wheeled carts with their wrists and arms cuffed and yokedand their 18-in. ankle chains still tethered to their pussy rings. Clearly,the gagged Scotswomen would not be the most efficient workers in the canefieldsthat day but, fearing punishment for poor performance, they decided reluctantlyto work as well as they could. The fields were about a half-mile away fromthe compound and they slowly pulled their carts up to the gate where the guardsallowed them through. The sun was well overhead by the time they had made the15-minute trudge to the fields, their chains clinking and tugging annoyinglythe entire time, and they were pointed to a spot where workers would load theircarts for a return trip to a cane storage area and buildings. Isabel and Moirawere panting through their wide-open mouths, their ankles, wrists, elbows andpussies were sore already and they were very thirsty. Waiting for them at thefield-loading area were two bottles of water but when they arrived, all theycould do was look at them; they could kneel but could not reach the water yokedas they were to their carts. They looked around at the workers still in thefields and decided to stand and wait until someone came along.

Their Scottish pride, and thirst, told them they were not going to go a stepfurther until someone came to water them. A few minutes later, two young nativemen walked out of the field and took pity on the two slaves. The men lookedappraisingly at the women, picked up the canteens and Isabel and Moira tiltedtheir heads back, allowing the men to pour small quantities of tepid waterdown their parched throats.

Unknown to the field workers and the female slaves, all their food and waterhad been ordered to be laced with vuka-vuka to keep themsexed up for any sexual interlude that the sheik had in mind. Isabel and Moirahad already received significant doses of the herbal aphrodisiac and theirlibidos were being stimulated again as they glanced at the sweat-bathed, dark-brownbodies of the men who were giving them water – and appraising glances. "Youvery pretty ladies," said the older of the two, a young man in his early-20s. "Wenever see white wimmin out here, 'specially wif all doze chains on and attachedlike you is to dem carts. "Whuffo bring you to us, anyway? Where you from?Can you speak to us thro' doze gags?" Isabel spoke first: "Wf-rm-sclnd-nn-ff-bn-kkdnnppdd!(We are from Scotland and we have been kidnapped!). "Ccnn-ooff-hh-llff-ss?Pfff?" (Can you help us? Please?) The two men looked at each other and shrugged. "Ahkin only guess you askin' us hep you. Ma'am, we slaves oursef an' I can seeby yo' bran' on yo' big tit you slaves, too. Wha'se worse, if'n we heps youescape, we goan git kilt or, worsted, beaten." A small, single-engine planedroned overhead, reminding Isabel and Moira they were still in the 20th century. "Butwe could make your existence here jus' a lil bit better if'n you could allowus to, shall we say, take a few liberties wif you, if you knows what we means." Isabel'sand Moira's eyes widened as the vuka-vuka began its work on their sex drivesand they saw the growing bulges in the young men's torn and tattered jeansas they looked at the women's chained bodies, bronzed and naked in the brightmorning sun. Realizing they did not have any means to defend themselves, Isabeland Moira nodded in mute assent and knelt down, still yoked to their wagons,and opened their gaping mouths a little wider to accept the violations thatwere about to come. Isabel noticed her ring gag move slightly against the backsof upper and lower premolars as she did so and remembered to look more closelyat her mouth when she had a chance. Moira and Isabel were stock-still on theirknees in the brilliant, hot daylight of the Ushwanti canefield as the youngmen took full advantage of their helplessness. The first, the spokesman, slippedhis huge, hard dong easily into Moira's waiting mouth and she gasped and gaggedas he quickly forced it home into the back of her throat. The younger man alsoslid his cock deeply into Isabel's mouth and she, too, gaped and gasped inastonishment at its firm girth that squeezed in through her 3½-in.-diameterring gag. Soon, both women were pushing their heads down, then backwards andforwards rhythmically and vigorously, giving head like they had never donebefore, stimulated by the mounting sexual tension induced by the aphrodisiac.Within three minutes, all four were gasping as orgasms wracked their taxedbodies in pulsating quick time. The African youths shot their huge loads ofcum into the slavewomen's throats and left their flaccid members deep insidefor a full minute as Isabel and Moira reached small climaxes on their own.The young men withdrew their organs, zipped up their jeans and wiped off thedrips of semen and saliva that coated Isabel's and Moira's mouths, lips andchins. Isabel took advantage: "Plff, plff, cn-u-gt-uff- wwrrttnmm pprrff?" (Please,please can you get us some writing paper?), she said, making handwriting motionswith her cuffed hands and wrists. "Writing paper? Shu', we can bring some dattamarrah. Same place same time." The two men helped the Scottish slaves backto their feet and they walked away to resume work in the tall rows of greencanestalks, emerging in a few minutes with armloads of stocks that they piledonto their carts.

A RESCUE PLANNED "Graham, can you get us some paper?" Peter Metcalfe askedhis friend, as he gathered his two sons and Graham's two boys around the kitchentable to plan Isabel's and Moira's rescue. The four boys, aged 18 - 19, hadbeen rushed home to western Scotland form their Royal Navy commando units insouthern England to attend to a family matter of "extreme and confidentialurgency." "Boys," Peter began, "Graham and I want to talk to you about yourmothers. I'll be blunt. They have been kidnapped by an international slaverycartel and are somewhere in an East African country, Ushwant, where Isabelwas kept confined for three days a couple of months ago. "Well, now," Petersaid, nodding at the MacPeaks, "Moira and Isabel are there and we are goingto rescue them.

"We have informed the Scottish northern constabulary but we are not goingto wait for them or Scotland Yard or Interpol or the diplomats to secure theirfreedom through official channels, investigations and the courts; we are goingto do it ourselves and we are calling on you lads, with your commando training,to help us develop an operations order -- everything from passports to transportationto firearms and plastic explosives, if necessary," Peter said, hammering histradesman's fist onto the kitchen table for emphasis. The boys' eyes, wisebeyond their late-teen years, were wide with the stunning, sudden news andthey feared for their mothers. This was unbelievable, in small-town Scotland,but they quickly took strength in their two years of commando training withthe Special Boat Squad. They were in top physical condition and highly motivatedyoung men. They loved their mums deeply and they were quite ready, willingand able to lay down their lives for them.

Eighteen hours later, the six -- two fathers and four sons -- had 55 pagesof neatly handwritten notes and a flowchart/action plan drawn on the back ofan oilcloth that detailed step by step how they were going to locate Isabeland Moira, how they were going to get there, extract them and get them safelyout of Africa and back home. The gallant six faced greater odds but they werearmed with determination and a resourceful will that could not be equalled.The boys had requested long special leave which had been granted and they werevery good at "rabbiting" things out of pussers' stores. The great Metcalfe- MacPeak plan was under way while the Scottish criminal investigator teamcontinued to uncover more compelling evidence of the bizarre activities recentlyat the strange Hotel Balmoral near Cape Wrath. The police case file was growingand the evidence logbook had more and more entries as the young MacPeak andMetcalfe boys said a temporary heartfelt goodbye to their fathers to head backto their home bases to beg, borrow and steal commando tools and weaponry ofthe trade for great Metcalfe - MacPeak African expedition.

Meanwhile, Isabel and Moira stood patiently as the two young men loaded theircarts with sugar cane. When the carts were fully loaded, they were pointedin the direction of the sugar-cane mill and told to start hauling their loads,which weighed about 100 pounds, toward the outskirts of the wire-enclosed palacecompound. They leaned forward, pulling on the yokes cuffed to their elbows,and the wagons started to move over the dusty, little trail that had seen manydecades of wagon traffic. Their heavy breasts bounced and swayed to and froagainst the gentle tug of the 14-in. chain linking their nipple rings and theirankle chains created dusty swirls as they, too, tugged against their vaginalrings, giving the two already-aroused women sexual sensations they had neverfelt before. Pleasure and pain had become one and at 10 a.m., on their returntrip to the cane fields, they were stopped and given water, again laced with vuka-vuka ,and their sexual appetites were stimulated once again. Unaware of the presenceof the herbal ingredients in their water and food, they thought their increasedlibidos were the result of their steel bondage as well as the attentions theyhad received recently from the field workers and the guards. The bright equatorialsunlight was hot on their bare shoulders and backs but their bodies were well-protectedby extra-strength sunscreen that gave their pale bodies a sexy sheen. The hoursof sun exposure would tan their white skins in a matter of days, ensured bythe adequate suntan lotion that they applied generously to their bodies beforethe start of work. They continued to haul cane – making the half-miletrip in about a half-hour one way – and were stopped for water and pureedfood at lunchtime, more water at 2 p.m., and walked one more trip until theywere told to head back to the blacksmith's shop to be untethered. At 4 p.m.,footsore and with tired, aching legs, arms and shoulders, the women clinkedand clattered in their chains as they hauled their now-empty carts back intothe compound where another worker unlocked their elbows from the yokes andunbolted the yokes from the wagon tongues. Their collars were once again chainedtogether and they were escorted back to their cellblock to be unlocked again,and placed in their separate quarters. The rest of the day was theirs but nextday, with the promised writing paper, they hoped to be able to make plans fortheir escape.

The two slave women made themselves a light supper, ran themselves a luxuriousbath and eased their aching bodies into the hot, soapy water where they stayedin relative comfort until they started to nod in fatigue. Both women got outof their tubs, dried themselves off, paying close attention to their new brands,their huge breasts and ringed vaginas, and clinked their naked way to theirbeds where they were soon fast asleep. This was to be their routine, Monday- Friday, and their weekends were free, so to speak. But there was some recreationin store and they were the featured attraction at the sheikh's Saturday nightreception and dance for his staff, slaves and invited guests. Next day, Tuesday,was a repeat of the first day – up at 6:30 a.m., breakfast, chained,escorted to the equipment shed to receive sunscreen then yoked to their cartsand off to work, 8 - 4, with breaks at 10 a.m., 12 noon and 2 p.m., to receivewater and food, always laced with vuka-vuka . By theend of their second day in the canefields, their libidos were in overdrivebut Isabel had received a small pad of writing paper from one of the youngmen. She folded it up neatly in her cuffed hands and, during a break when theywere not being observed, passed it to Moira, pointing to her collar. Isabelknelt down with great difficulty in front of Moira and Moira slipped the smallpad and pencil under Isabel's steel collar behind her neck where it was hiddenby her shoulder-length brown hair. At last, they had a method of communicatingclearly and passing notes to someone who might be able to help them escape.But, alas, that help would not come for months. Wednesday and Thursday passeduneventfully, with no breaks in the field routine, but on Friday afternoon,when they were returned to their apartment-cells, as they called their quarters,they were surprised to see three articles of clothing waiting for them on theirbeds – a straight grey skirt, a floral-patterned, stretchy "tube top" anda pair of 3-in. high-heels – with a note from the sheikh saying theywere to dress accordingly and attend a regular weekend social in the nearbypalace at 8 p.m., Saturday. Isabel and Moira ignored the clothing and invitationsfor the moment, choosing instead to ease themselves into their bathtubs, preparesupper for themselves and lie down to think more about sex with their husbands,whenever they managed to get free, if ever.

Their fervent desire to escape somehow was always present but their plansgave way frequently to powerful, lurid sexual fantasies and appetites inducedby the daily doses of vuka-vuka . Enslaved by her ownlibido as well as by steel, Isabel's recurring fantasies drove her franticwith desire and lust: she dreamed and fantasized regularly, during the dayand at night, about her lovemaking with Peter at home and during their sexylong weekend away at Hotel Balmoral. Moira's imaginings, although less intensethan Isabel's, were focused on her initiation to steel bondage and lovemakingwhile she was chained in bed with her husband, Graham. During the still Africannight, broken now and then by the cries and howls of desert denizens of thenight, they would lie in bed and finger their chains, trying to imagine itwas their loved ones doing it for them. Isabel tried to insert an exploratoryfinger into her vagina but the twin rings blocked access to the sensitive areasand she had to content herself by stimulating the outer surfaces of her sexwhich made her more frustrated sexually. Instead, she tried to work free thering gag, wired in place behind her teeth, with her fingernails. Guided byher tongue, she found the small surgical wires the mad surgeon, Dr. Lord, hadwound around her upper and lower bicuspids to hold the gag firmly in place.She found the wires were too snug but she managed, during the last couple ofnights, to loosen the ring ever so slightly. She would tell Moira of her progressnext morning. At daybreak, Isabel was chained as usual to Moira after breakfastto be escorted to the equipment shed and placed into further bondage. She slidMoira her first note in her neat handwriting: I've been able to loosenmy ring gag a little. Will show you at 10. BTW, are youfeeling a little more 'randy' than usual? I think our food and drink are spiked.Destroy this note. Moira read the note and quickly crammed it intoa little ball and swallowed it with a grimace. Moira leaned closer to Isabelas they walked together across the compound and said:

"Mff, mmfllng mr rny thn ooffml. Sshh-mmhh-tt-llsssnn thff ggg." (Yes, I'mfeeling more randy than usual! Show me how to loosen this gag), she said, wipingthe drool from her chin. Isabel replied: "Oosthe ttnnng tt fll fftt wwrrzz,nn ppkk tt wif fingrff." (Use your tongue then pick at the wires with yourfingers). Isabel showed Moira what to do by running her tongue around the rearcontour of the stainless-steel ring and Moira followed suit, both of them unnoticedby their escorts who thought they were merely trying to moisten their lipsand adjust their forced jaws. After coating themselves again with sunscreen,they stood passively as their elbows were cuffed to their yokes. They werethen led, still chained together, to the waiting carts where their 4-ft. yokeswere bolted firmly to the tongues and only then was their neck chain unlocked.They trudged off to the canefield – thought of escape was absurd, yokedand chained as they were – and another boring day of hauling cane gotunder way. At least it was the end of a slave's work week and they were promisedSaturday and Sunday off, they thought. Friday night rolled around and theywere returned to their cell-apartments to clean up, have something to eat andlisten to the BBC World Service. Moira was taken out of her cell by a guardand taken by the arm into Isabel's cell for what was to be a regular Fridaynight get-together. Isabel's cell door was locked and barred shut and the twowomen were able to enjoy each other's company for the first time in their bizarrefirst week at the sheik's desert palace. Waiting for them on each of theirbeds was a straight grey skirt, an off-white, stretchy tube top and a pairof three-in. high heels. The women ignored the neat little piles of clothingas Isabel led Moira into the bathroom and told her to look in the mirror asshe explained how she was able to loosen the ring gag slightly. Both womenspent an hour trying to loosen the wires that held the rings in place and succeededin freeing Isabel's heavy ring very slightly.

Next day, Saturday, they tried to approximate a weekend of relative normalcyby puttering around their apartments, doing some little housekeeping choresand preparing small meals for themselves in first Isabel's small, tidy kitchen,for brunch, then Moira's for tea at 3.

Thoughts of escape were always present but the impossibility of their situationsdiscouraged discussion. As well, their conversation was difficult and Isabelwas determined to loosen her ring gag even more before the Saturday night social.After an hour, she had succeeded in freeing up another millimetre of slackin the gag's wires but Moira continued to have difficulty with hers. As well,their slavery had become more obdurate than ever – they had been keptnaked for almost two weeks and had begun to forget what it was like to wearclothes in the first place. Putting the skirt and tube top on over their chainswould be a rare treat, they thought, and toward 6 p.m., Moira excused herselfto get ready for the big weekend event. She and Isabel hugged as best theycould in their chains and Moira headed to her bathroom to draw a bath, do herhair and make up her face as best she could. Putting lipstick on was goingto be a challenge, she thought, as she soaked in her hot tub, her chains andcuffs clattering under the bathwater. Isabel, too, ceased trying to free hergag and enjoyed her bath to the fullest. She, too, also had trouble doing upher face, eyebrows, cheeks and lips but finally succeeded in doing a better-than-averagejob. She started brushing her hair but her handcuffs did not allow her freedomof movement to do a satisfactory job. Nevertheless, by 7 p.m., both women wereready to get dressed. The two had to sit on the bed to pull on their skirts,the first time in weeks they had felt clothing over their loins, then theypulled their tube tops down over their heads and tried to get them to fit comfortablyaround their huge bosoms. With consummate skill, however, they squeezed andpatted their heavy, chained breasts and adjusted their tops to flatten themselvesout somewhat so they did not look quite as top heavy as they did during theday. The three-in. pump heels were the final piece and they slipped them oneasily over their now-tanned but tender feet. When they rose to look at themselvesin their bedroom mirrors, they agreed they looked almost half-civilized, exceptfor the ring gags, handcuffs and leg chains with tethers that ran up betweentheir toned and shapely legs to disappear underneath their hemlines which fellto three-in. above their shapely knees. Otherwise, they looked like bosomy,casually-dressed young women -- who might be going to the cinema with theirhusbands on a Saturday night – except the chains showed everywhere, whichreminded them constantly, by sight, sound and touch, of their permanency. Andslavery.

Soon, two armed guards arrived to escort them across the compound into thehuge, one-storey palace, its brightly-lit interior inviting them past the imposingmarble pillars and stone staircase at the front. Isabel and Moira clinked theirway up the stairs and the guards left them at the entranceway. Moira pushedopen the heavy double doors with both hands and they entered. They were notat all prepared for what they saw: groups of 50 or so African and Caucasianyoung men and women, in semiformal evening wear, were gathered in small groups,chatting, smoking and drinking white wine, giving the appearance of civilityin such barbaric surroundings. They saw Sheik Abbadi, their owner, in a cornertalking to a bevy of young women, in evening dresses, and the sheik caughttheir eye. The tall, handsome African excused himself politely from his audienceand made his way over to the chained Scotswomen. "Good evening, Isabel andMoira," he said. "I trust you have had an informative and productive firstweek in the canefields and that you have not been worked too severely. "MayI add, please, that your loveliness tonight is second only to the way you lookwhen you are at work in my fields during the week? You are indeed the visionof Gaelic loveliness and I am happy that I have purchased you." Isabel andMoira looked at him in disbelief and shrugged off his dubious compliments.Their intense dislike of this slimeball grew and their intent to escape, atall costs, was galvanized. A white-jacketed waiter arrived magically at hisside with a tray of chilled white wine and the sheikh offered two glasses toIsabel and Moira who accepted them silently. The two women held their wineglasses decorously at waist level in both hands and delayed making small talkwith this disreputable slaveowner and criminal. Other women came by and ooh 'edand aah 'ed at their silver-grey slave chains as wellas their deeply-tanned, buxom figures that their tube tops and skirts did nothingto hide. "Are you two real slaves?" one asked Moira, who shook her head negativelyin reply. "Where are you from?" another asked Isabel. "Ffo-lnd" (Scotland),she replied. "And do you have to wear those terrible gags and chains all thetime? The silver-grey of your chains sets off the grey of skirts, you know.Or were you chained tonight just for display purposes? I can't believe thatmature women, such as you would be slaves. Really now!" Moira looked at heryoung questioner severely, as a mother would to a child, and coldly replied: "Nn-ff,whf tt wrmm lllttmmmff; nnowwfffofff!" (No we have to wear them all the time;now fuck off.) The young woman giggled, blushed and turned away to chat withher other airhead friends. Moira tried to suppress the urge to tell this youngpiece of fluff, who probably never wore anything heavier than a gold neck chainbefore, to step outside so she could emphatically even accounts with her. Isabelsaw the steely anger in Moira's eyes as Moira's stare pursued the young whitewoman as she strode away with her gaggle of young pals. Isabel took her friend'sarm gently but firmly: "Nnn, Mmm, ziff iff nnt tt plaff," (No, Moira, thisis not the place), Isabel said, surprised that she was able to pronounce acouple of vowels finally after a week of trying to work her ring gag loosefrom behind her teeth. Although still wired into her mouth firmly in four places,its slight movement allowed Isabel to speak just a little bit more clearly.Moira's gag was still lodged in its original place and she was still muffledfrustratingly in whatever she tried to say. Moira's heart was stilled whenshe heard Minnie Riperton's "Lovin' You" sinuate from a nearly sound system.It took her back to March that year when chains, bondage and slavery were thestuff of adult magazines and cartoons. This was real life and she was a partof it. Soon, a few couples wandered onto the wide parquet dance floor and beganswaying gently to the lyrical ballad. Isabel and Moira missed their husbandseven more and wondered what they were doing at exactly that time as Minnie'svoice swept over them, transporting them back to a more agreeable time in ruralScotland. Suddenly, two handsome, well-dressed young men, in their mid-20s,approached and asked Isabel and Moira to dance. They looked at each other andnodded as the young men escorted them, one hand gently on their red, chafedelbows, onto the dance floor. Unsure where to put their linked hands, the womenfinally placed them flat against their partners' chests, which inflamed themales' passions intensely, and they swayed to the music, their chains addinga quiet arpeggio as they moved their legs gracefully against their steel tethers.Reason fought with passion in Isabel's and Moira's minds as they danced withtheir partners. They wanted to escape in the worst way but clear, rationalthought was subdued by waves of sexual impulses induced by their daily dosesof aphrodisiac-laden food and drink and the sight and feel of these two youngmen who held them so gently. "What good are these two chaps to our escape,anyway?" Isabel thought to herself. "But, oh, wouldn't I love to crawl thisfellow's frame. I feel like a real good, long fuck right here, right now." Moira'smind was set on the face of her dance partner and she was shocked by her sexualthoughts of wanting to take him in her mouth and give him "the blow job ofthe century." "Can you speak through that gag?" the young man asked her suddenly.Moira shook her head negatively. "Oh, I see. Well, my name's Dan and that'sDave over there with your friend. We're from Seattle, Washington, and wereinvited here by Sheik Abbadi. Are you one of his wives? Or are you, can I sayit, captives? Or, ah, er, slaves? "I say that only in because I see you andyour friend are in chains." Moira was getting tired of being referred to asslave and she frowned at him but continued to dance, her chains rattling nowand then against the parquet floor. The young man, suddenly circumspect, avoidedher steely glares and icy demeanour and knew she was not to be trifled with.Isabel's partner, Dave, was content just to feel her hands on his chest andthe soft but definite brush of Isabel's full breasts against his white shirt.He could feel himself getting tumescent and erect as he felt and heard Isabel'schains clink with her movements. The Riperton song ended and was replaced byan Olivia Newton-John ballad and the dancers continued. A few minutes later,Dan and Dave asked Isabel and Moira to join them in a circle of comfortablechairs just off the dance floor. Isabel and Moira were still footsore fromthe difficult work week and were only too glad to get off their high heelsfor a while. The young gentlemen escorted them off the dance floor and helpedthem to their seats. The women crossed their knees decorously and, except fortheir gags and chains, could have been mistaken for ordinary people. "Doofoof hff nny wrttng peffer?" (Do you have any writing paper?) Isabel asked Davequietly, as she gestured a writing motion with her hands. "Writing paper? Well,yes, I think I have something here in my pocket. Will this napkin do?"

Isabel grabbed it from him. "Pmm rr pmfull?" (Pen or pencil?), she asked,gesturing again. Dave reached into his jacket pocket and withdrew a pencil.Isabel began printing neatly as Moira looked on while the young men sat acrossfrom them: "We are Isabel Metcalfe and Moira MacPeak, of rural Renfrewshire,Scotland, and are held here against our will. We were taken, bound and gagged,from a hotel in northern Scotland and sold to Sheik Abbadi at some castle orjail in this country. Call our husbands, Peter and Graham, at 01-44-555-3434and deliver this note immediately to police. Help! We fear for our lives." Isabelsigned it and gave it to Moira to read and sign. Moira then passed it to Danwhose eyes widened as though he was just pole-axed. "Migod, sold into slavery?" hefinally blurted. "FFShhhh!" scolded Isabel. "Nofolod" (Not so loud). "Yes,we will take this note into the capital tonight and we will have the policeout here in no time," Dan continued. Isabel and Moira nodded their silent thanksand thought, at last, they were going to get a chance at release and an opportunityto bring their kidnappers to justice. Not. Dan and Dave quietly left the Abbadipalace compound later that night, after a warm embrace from the Scotswomen,and delivered the note to the dusty, decrepit police station in the Ushwanticapital Sunday morning. The bored police officer behind the desk said he wouldshow it to his superior next day and nothing was done for several weeks. Sundayrolled around and Moira and Isabel, naked in chains once again but buoyed bythe hope of imminent release, spoke about last night as they stood in theirbarred doorways facing each other. Isabel informed Moira she had been keepinga log of people, places and events and told Moira not to be discouraged. Theypassed Sunday morning listening for any possible news about their situationon the BBC World Service but international events passed them by. Sunday afternoonand Sunday evening passed and, still, no one came by. They crawled into bedat 7 p.m., weary and worried, until they were shaken awake by their guardsat 6:30 a.m. Monday to start another work week in the fields. Monday - Fridayrolled by with the same cane-hauling drudgery, but their sexual appetites continuedunabated with the vuka-vuka -laced food and drink theyreceived regularly throughout the day, as ordered by Sheik Abbadi. Clear, rational,sustained thought eluded them as their supercharged libidos kept flashing hornydesires from their subconscious minds to their consciousness and bodies atevery step. The constant tugging of the chains against their nipples and vaginaswere sexual stimulants that kept them continually on edge while they hauledcarts and they had no way of satisfying themselves and their kinky desires.Even at night, their gentle tuggings on their vagina and nipple chains onlyserved to increase, but never satisfy, their lust. They were truly prisonersin their own bodies and slaves to their own desires. The young men who hadaccosted them the week before had been transferred to another field and theircarts were loaded by another crew of men and women who eyed them suspiciously.They were always locked up at night, sometimes together, sometimes apart, butthoughts of home and their husbands and sons were never far away despite thesexual torments brought on every day by the herbal ingredients in their foodand drink. The Saturday night routine of dressing in skirts, skimpy tops andheels continued every week for the first month but Dan and Dave were nowhereto be found. Isabel and Moira had a few dances with a couple of the palacestaff but those liaisons led to nothing. Another two months passed and Moiraand Isabel were turning into strong, hard workers. They were not starved ormistreated and the daily toil of hauling 100-pound carts of sugar cane haddeveloped and sculpted their shoulders, biceps and back muscles into thoseof the other field workers. But for their bulging, heavy breasts, their soft,feminine lines were gone. Their stomach muscles rippled and their thigh andcalf muscles became stronger every day. But despite their physical strength,they were still restrained by chains and cuffs linking them to their cartsand shackling their necks, wrists, breasts and ankles together. As strong asthey were, they were still slaves, physically and psychologically, and Isabeland Moira began to realize they might never escape. But in Scotland and southernEngland, the MacPeak and Metcalfe families had plans well under way to findand release Isabel and Moira.

Passports had been obtained and the sons had bribed some of their seniorNCOs to release to them combat uniforms, steel helmets and desert camouflageas well as large quantities of small-arms ammunition, grenades, C-4 plasticexplosive, pistols, submachineguns and semiautomatic rifles. At the end oftwo months, while their mothers were still anguishing in the desert palacecompound, they had accumulated, stored and arranged for shipment enough weaponryand ammunition to outfit a platoon of commandos. Crated in several heavy-dutyboxes, labelled "auto parts," they had made arrangements to have the militaryhardware couriered to a secret rendezvous not far from the Ushwant prison,where their mothers were taken and sold, while their fathers had secured airtransportation to the Ushwanti capital from Prestwick, to Heathrow, to Tangierand onward to the Ushwant international airport. From there, they would launchPhase 2 of their daring rescue attempt. But a couple of obstacles stood inthe way of success. The fathers and sons still did not know the exact locationof Isabel and Moira and only chanced on the existence of the 15th Century fortress/dungeon,where they were sold, by researching the East African country in a public libraryin Edinburgh. Unknown to them, however, was the covert relationship Sheik Abbadienjoyed with the local and state police forces. He was tipped to the note Isabelhad written and that Dan and Dave had passed to the police and stepped in personallyto take charge of his prized slaves. He would have them jailed, in UshwantPrison, charges pending, while he investigated further and decided whetherhe would keep Isabel and Moira or have them quietly disposed of in the desert.It was grey, humid and overcast that Wednesday mid-morning when six armed guardsdrove into the canefields where Isabel and Moira were working and placed themunder arrest. No reason was given and no charges were read. Constitutionalrights had no place in Ushwant, or in dealings with white slaves, and theseguards knew it. While two of the burly men sat in the jeep, two others snappedofficial police handcuffs and leg irons on Moira's and Isabel's wrists andankles, just above their permanent chains, while the other two stood by withpistols drawn. Their collars were again locked together with a six-ft. chainand they were lifted roughly into the rear of the jeep for a long, dusty tripback toward Ushwant Prison, from whence they had come.

This time, however, they were not blindfolded but the weight of their chainsand additional, unnecessary shackles told them they were going to be prisonersa long time. Isabel's and Moira's shoulders and chains shook as they wept watchingthe desert palace compound shrink into the desert horizon as the jeep, withits Keystone Kops and two beautiful prisoners in the rear, lurched down thedusty, rough single-lane road. Two hours later, they were back on a paved,two-lane highway en route to the coast and the prison. They had not seen theimposing sea -coast fortress before, blindfolded as they were on arrival monthspreviously, and were shocked by sight of the imposing walls, ramparts and theportcullis, out of another age. The smell of the sea permeated the cool, dampstone of the prison's walls and they admitted defeat but refused to allow theword slave into their vocabulary. The chains would hold them well, they knew,and the cold, grey walls looked indestructible. Isabel and Moira were takenquickly and noisily up the same narrow passageway into the cellblock that heldthem previously and were thrust together into the same 8 X 10 cell with barredwindow that overlooked the highway and the Indian Ocean from the third levelof the ancient prison. Their neck chains were unlocked and their collars werethen locked to sturdy, six-in. ringbolts embedded in the cell wall above theircots. Only then were their shiny, zinc-plated handcuffs and leg irons unlocked,leaving them chained as before. Just as the last legcuff was being removedfrom Moira's right leg that dreary afternoon, however, a small, twin-enginepassenger jet screeched down the main runway at Ushwant international airportwith 27 people aboard. Peter Metcalfe, Graham MacPeak, and their four sonslooked out the windows at the drizzly African afternoon in apprehension andexcitement. Their courier had confirmed the arrival and disposition their armsshipments the day before and they had lucked in with direct connections fromthe UK to Tangier and on to East Africa. Their great desert adventure was aboutto begin. Moira and Isabel sat in the edge of their small cots, placed theirheads in their chained hands and wept throughout the afternoon and night. Theywere bereft and utterly lost; no one could find them here and if someone did,they were so implacably chained, they could not easily be released, if at all.

Meanwhile, their husbands and sons got to know the Ushwant capital, got someroad maps, drew the route and set a timetable to uncover their arms cache andstow it for use and made some discreet inquiries about the slave trade in thecountry. Unknown to them, the Uswanti police were tipped to their arrival andwere preparing to take them into custody as persons of interest in connectionwith information and evidence of arms smuggling. They would wait and springthe trap at the opportune moment. "Sahib, Ushwant Prison, that was, how doyou say it, the supermarket of the slave trade, from the 15th century untilrecently," one bazaar vendor told Peter and Graham while their sons listenedintently. "Where is this prison?" Graham asked. "It's up the coast highway,about two hours from here; you can't miss it on the left. It overlooks theIndian Ocean. " It is not heavily guarded because it is virtually escape-proofand the political prisoners and convicts that it houses are chained up allthe time -- men and women both -- and the only way they will leave there isinside a pine box." The sons and fathers shuddered at the thoughts of theirloved ones being held in captivity in this way. They strongly suspected Moiraand Isabel were being held there but they had to go there and find out – theycouldn't just pick up the phone, dial Ushwant Prison and ask for the warden'soffice. Drastic situations call for drastic measures and they were ready, willingand able to do all they could to free their loved ones. Next day, they agreed,back in their seedy hotel rooms, they would rent a small van to stash theirgear somewhere safe for quick and easy access. Thursday, they found a 1975Chevy van with a V-6 engine and 40 cu. ft. of cargo space – just enoughfor their gear – and paid for the rental in British pounds. They sawthree policemen watching them from the door of the rental agency but paid themno heed as the six men jumped in and drove out of the city into the desertalone. They found their unmarked desert arms cache, and the boys leaped intoaction, uncrating weapons and ammunition and placing it securely in the van.Their ammunition, grenades, thunderflashes and plastic explosives were keptin their metal containers and would be opened at the last moment. All otherequipment, including grappling lines and rapelling gear, were stowed and thecrates dismantled, burned and buried in the rough gravel soil -- while a smallgroup of heavily-armed Ushwanti policemen watched discreetly from a distance.The Metcalfes and MacPeaks drove back into the city, made sure they dodgedthe police, paid a man for the use of his locked garage on a grimy, infrequently-usedside street and walked away to plan their next move. Waiting for them at thehotel were six heavily-armed police officers who informed them they were underarrest on arms-smuggling suspicions – a capital offence punishable by25 years hard labor – and they were manhandled roughly into a policewagon and driven to Ushwant Prison, two hours away. Moira and Isabel, languishingdistraught in their cell, had no idea the prison van they heard driving upthe highway held their would-be rescuers while Peter, Graham and their sonswere unsure where their wives and mothers were. Inside the prison, the sixmen were roughly escorted into a wing farthest away from the women's sectionand were locked into three cells, two apiece. Peter's sons had wisely carriedlock-picking keys and tools before leaving England and they knew at first glancethe old, well-used deadbolt mechanisms could not withstand the gentle pryingsand pickings of their new, slim tools.

Getting out of their cells would be a snap, as long they were not observed,and after 20 minutes of soft clicks, the boys had unlocked their cell doorand began working on the cell door locks holding the other sons and Peter andGraham. With no guards or other physical security apparent apart from the appallingstone fortifications, cells and bars, the boys quickly worked in the dim lightand soon all six were free once again. Gathered for a brief O-group in a smallalcove near their cells, they decided they would force their way out, regroupin the city, gather their arms and equipment and return to extract Isabel andMoira. All agreed and, led by the sons, they found their way into the courtyardof the old prison and easily subdued two sleepy guards who were leaning againsttheir semiautomatic weapons near a wall. Looking around, the six found theirway into the mechanical room that operated the old portcullis that sealed offthe main passageway. They managed to raise the barred gate and ran out in singlefile onto the two-lane ocean highway.

Isabel and Moira heard the clanks, creaks and groans of the opening gatefrom their cell and rose together, tripping and tangling in their chains, tolook out the small, barred exterior window to see a sight that instantly gavethem equal measures of hope and despair: there were their husbands and sons,running away down the prison road onto the highway. "Ha-aaaa, Piffr!" (Help,Peter) Isabel cried as loud as she could through her loosened ring gag. Moirawept and shouted: "Gggraahhh, ha-a-a-a; iff Moraw n Iffbbll. Uu-hhrrrr!" (Graham,help; it's Moira and Isabel. Up here!) Graham and Peter looked up over theirshoulders as they ran at the little Square-barred window, about 50 yards awayand saw two gaping-mouthed female forms that they thought must be their wives. "Stopboys," Peter ordered quietly, as he and the others stopped and turned to lookat the women. "I think we've found them. Look, up there." Peter and Grahamwaved at them, frowned at their distant, vague faces – they could notmake out the details -- but smiled at recognition and put their fingers totheir lips to indicate no further sound from them. Graham indicated with hand-and-armmotions that they were going down the highway and would be back as fast asthey could to rescue them. They did not want to chance a rescue attempt withoutadequate arms and gear but they would return in force before dawn next day.Incredulous at their easy escape but deeply saddened at leaving their lovedones behind, they located a parked four-door sedan about a mile down the roadand the sons skilfully and quickly hot-wired it and they were on their wayback to the capital to get their van, reorganize, plan their mission and return.All six wondered during their drive away whether they ought to have dared arescue. They were not sure if they had enough time to free them or not andquietly agreed they were on the best tack for success. Meanwhile, Isabel andMoira embraced each other as best they could in their chains and prayed theywould come back for them as soon as possible. Rescue was so near but theircell and chains were so incredibly daunting, they thought. Isabel set to worktrying to loosen her ring gag even more and succeeded in freeing it just anothermillimetre or so. Moira's gag was still stuck in nearly its original positionand she gave up after a few fruitless attempts at trying to pick at the wireswith her broken fingernails.

Both women then started to tug as hard as they could on the chain linkingtheir collars to the ringbolts above their cots but the chain and bolt weretoo strong for their slender, tanned arms. They had long ago given up tryingto slide their wrist cuffs down over their wrist bones; they, too, were inescapable,as were chains, rings and shackles on their heavy breasts and ankles. Theywould just have to wait. And wait. The hours passed darkly as the women satsilently in their chains, sobbing softly as they heard the Indian Ocean's surfrumble in along the rocky foreshore near the prison fortress. Not a sound cameout of the other cells along their tier and they were afraid for themselvesand their husbands and sons. The effects of the vuka-vuka hadstarted to wear off and they began to know a physical and emotional exhaustionthat left them listless in their chains. By midnight, they had fallen intorestive slumber and were unaware of the 50 additional guards arriving at theprison from the city -- at the insistence of Sheik Abbadi, whose underworldconnections extended into the highest echelons of the police forces of Ushwant.By 1 a.m., sentries had been posted on each floor of the huge, three-storeyprison and at 20-ft. intervals along the perimeter. Portable, powerful searchlightshad been brought in and powered up by generators at strategic points on thebattlements and the guards on interior and exterior patrols were equipped withflashlights and radios as well as grenades, ammunition, semiautomatic carbinesand pistols. Isabel and Moira, at the command of their owner, Sheik Abbadi,had become the most heavily-guarded inmates in the 500-year history of UshwantPrison and any attempt to free them – unless mounted by an armored division – wouldprobably fail. Six lightly-armed and -equipped men against 50 heavily-armed,well-trained guards securing a prison with 25-ft.-thick walls overlooking arocky seacoast, did not have much chance of success in any field commander'stactical handbook. At 2 a.m., four guards were stationed on either side ofIsabel's and Moira's barred celldoor and a command post was set up nearby withmore guards equipped with radios, small arms and big lights. The powerful beamsshone across the entrance of their cell and Isabel and Moira were suddenlyawake, with a start and clatter of chain, as their 8 X 10 cell was suddenlyand completely bathed in blinding white light. "Mwafooo?" Isabel cried outin alarm, squinting as she looked out at the grim faces of the guards a fewfeet away. She tried to cover her nakedness with her chained hands and turnedher head away as the guards looked in at her chained beauty. Moira, too, wasawake and chose to look out the barred cell window at the greying dawn. Shescarcely noticed the beige van drive up on the southernmost extremity of thefort, just out of eyesight. Six black-garbed men with rifles, helmets, ammobelts and boots slipped quickly and quietly into nearby bushes. Isabel's andMoira's rescue was under way.

CURSES, FOILED AGAIN The great Metcalfe - MacPeak African escape plan calledfor Peter and his two sons to create a diversion with thunderflashes, smokegrenades and small-arms fire at the north wall while Graham and his two boyswould advance quickly to the west wall, at the side housing Isabel's and Moira'scell, scale the walls with one-in. nylon rope and grappling irons fired upwith special line-throwing rifles, break the cell window bars from the outsidewith C-4 plastic explosive, enter, free the women and lower them by ropes toGraham below. Once the sons were back on the ground with Isabel and Moira,they would try circle around again, rejoin the Metcalfe group, fight a rearguardaction back toward their vehicle and "bug out." It looked good on paper, theythought, but they were had no idea about the suddenly-increased numbers andarms of the vigilant defenders. "Bang, Bang, Bang!!" three thunderflashes explodedin a blinding flash on the north wall, dazing and blinding the guards temporarily.Isabel and Moira froze in horror as "Bang, Bang, Bang!!" rang out a secondtime. That was it -- Peter and his boys only had six thunderflashes. They quicklyfollowed with short, sharp bursts of submachinegun fire and pistol shots, forcingthe guards, who had lost their night vision, to dive for cover while Grahamand his two boys sprinted toward the west wall and attempt the most difficultpart of the rescue. They had not anticipated the strength and numbers of thedefenders and were greeted immediately by a withering hail of searchlight-directedgunfire and grenades from the top ramparts of the fortress and from sandbaggedlocations at the base.

They quickly returned fire for about five minutes from their locations amongthe trees, scrub and rocks while three floors above Isabel and Moira coweredfrom the flash and noise at the bottom of their bunks, stretching their necktethers taut, daring not to breathe. It soon became apparent that without heavierfirepower the west-wall action was doomed to fail. The MacPeaks courageouslyexchanged volley after volley of rapid fire with the prison guards and soonrealized they might have only 10 minutes' of small-arms ammunition left. Theycould only carry so much, including the 40 pounds of other gear they had tocarry, and, soon, Graham had to make a tough decision: abandon the operation,retreat and rejoin the Metcalfes on the opposite side of the fortress. Grahamhunkered down with his sons and told them in a loud voice over their swirlingfire that splintered tree branches over their heads: "We've got to get away,lads; we don't have the ammo we need and it looks like there's many more ofthem'n we thought. I'll cover you two; now run back to the Metcalfes . . .Go! Now!!" Graham opened fire with his submachinegun as his sons took to theirheels, crouching and returning fire as they ran back toward the north wall.Gunfire from the fortress followed Graham as he, too, stooped and ran behindto catch up, stopping now and then to fire blindly into the tops of the ramparts.They joined up with the Metcalfes behind a grove of trees, Graham explainedto Peter briefly what had happened and they decided to "bug out" as a group.Soon, they were back in their van, blood, sweat and tears coursing down theirgasping, blackened faces as they drove at high speed down the coastal highwayin blackout. They stopped now and then to make sure they were not being trailedand took the long way back into the capital, through the desert, as dawn crackedthe grey, muggy East African morning. The whole action took only 20 minutesand left Isabel and Moira shocked and wondering what had happened. They tooksolace in the knowledge their loved ones were attempting to rescue them astwo armed guards entered their cell, unlocked their neck chains and took themdown into the courtyard. The smell of cordite and thunderflash hung in theair as they saw a 1½-ton truck waiting for them near the portcullis.They were literally thrown into the back of the vehicle, unable to make thebig step up, and were chained to the floorboards with links attached to theircollars, rove through ringbolts and locked to their handcuffs.

Two guards got in the back with them, closed the flap as the truck droveaway and brutally raped both women through their ring-gagged mouths in absurdretribution for the failed raid. For the second time in three months, the twowomen tasted the salty African cum of their guards and detested their condition,their chains and everything about this filthy, dusty, poor country that heldthem captive. The truck clashed gears as he shifted from third to fourth headingdown the highway to the crossroads. About 90 minutes later, he would turn rightinto the desert and into the next chapter of Isabel Metcalfe's and Moira MacPeak'ssordid ordeal. They bumped and bounced against their chains – even theirheavy breasts bounced against their chain tethers -- and they did not feel,or react to, the steely tugs. They were now inured to being brutally chained.But the sparks of escape and retribution against their captors still glowedwithin. Two hours later, early on a Thursday morning, the dusty truck rolledinto the desert compound of Sheik Abbadi's remote desert palace and the twotired, hungry and thirsty women were unchained from the floorboards and walkedinto their original prison-cell apartments where they were chained securelyto the long rows of chains they had noticed earlier in their living rooms.They were stopped and backed against the wall as long chains were locked totheir collars, wrist and ankle cuffs and they were left alone facing each otherthrough their barred cell doors that opened onto a common short hallway. Isabeland Moira took several steps this way and that and found they had sufficientlengths of chain that allowed them slow movement into their bedrooms, bathroomsand kitchens. Fieldwork was not on the agenda this day, Isabel thought, asshe heavily raised a double-chained hand to wave at Moira indicating she wasgoing to have a long drink of water, a hot bath and a nap, if her chains allowed.She pulled and tugged and cursed aloud as she pulled what she thought was 30pounds of chain behind her into the kitchen to get a cold glass of water toquench her thirst and rinse the desert dust and cum from her gaping mouth.Moira did the same and soon, five lengths of chain could be seen trailing fromthe living-room wall into the bathroom where the two captives eased themselvesinto their tubs for the first time in long days. Twenty miles away, a beigevan was slowing to a crawl as it traced the army truck's wheel tracks acrossthe rough gravel desert floor.

"We're still on the track," Peter said to Graham as he followed the tireindentations further into the blazing heat of the morning sun. Twenty minuteslater, as Moira and Isabel were organizing their chains to get out of theirtubs, the fence of the desert compound hove into view of the Metcalfe - MacPeakvan. Another full day was about to begin for the tired young men. Fatigue,jet lag, hunger and anxiety combined to impair Graham's and Peter's judgmentand reaction time and those of their sons. Again, serious mistakes would bemade this day and their rescue attempt would cost them dearly. Peter scannedthe wired compound as he drove and estimated that four guards were on the gateand several were in the watchtowers along the perimeter; otherwise, he couldsee no activity in the palace compound itself. He spotted the low, stone buildingnear the centre of the compound and guessed that was where Isabel and Moirawere being held. "How many grenades do we have? And what quantities of small-armsammo do we have, boys?" Graham asked the sons in the rear. "There's two cratesof grenades and about 1,000 rounds of SMG, rifle and pistol ammo, clipped andready to go," came the reply. Quick discussion followed and the six quicklycame to the decision they would kill the guards at the gate, blow the gatewith grenades and shoot their way into the compound to the squat building about50 yards inside the gate. The van would be left at the far side of a rock outcroppingabout a quarter-mile away and they would have to rely on the element of surprise,wits, speed, marksmanship and, above all, extreme good luck, to carry thisoff. The sons in the rear had readied packs of ammunition, grenades and plasticexplosives but as they saw the low outline of the palace compound grow intoprominence on the horizon, they began to doubt whether they would be able tocarry this off in broad daylight. In five minutes they had driven quietly upto the lee of the rock promontory that fronted onto the palace gate and theboys slipped out of the van to do a recce. They returned in about 15 minutesand informed their fathers that they didn't think the palace guards patrolledout this far and doubted whether they could be observed from the watchtowers.The next several hours were engaged in planning, rest and testing and loadingtheir machine guns, rifles and pistols for the assault which was scheduledfor 10:30 p.m. The six men lay low as they watched the sun trek across thehorizon and were thankful when they saw the first hints of the African desertsunset. Soon, it was pitch dark behind the rock outcropping and they watchedas the palace security lights came on one by one, lighting the gate and watchtowersbrightly. The approach to the gate was crossed here and there by shadows fromthe rock outcroppings and they would take full advantage of these elements.Finally, at O-hour, 10:30 p.m., they crawled out from behind the rocks, insingle file, 10 yards apart, and performed the well-known infantryman's crawlto a small gravel dune within 200 yards of the gate. The sons, all marksmen,signed to their fathers they could easily take out the four gate guards, whenthe targets presented, and the fathers nodded in agreement. The Metcalfe andMacPeak sons fixed the black-market silencers onto the muzzles of their high-poweredsniper rifles, loaded with flashless rounds, and aimed through their nightscopesto the shadowy figures moving around the well-lit gate. " Thuk, thuk ," andtwo guards slumped silently to the ground as two 7.62 mm steel-jacketed rounds,fired from the MacPeak rifles, pierced their hearts. The other two guards,stunned by the sudden, soundless collapse of their fellows, ran to their comrades'aid and were immediately shot to death by the Metcalfe sons. It took only fiveseconds. "Let's rock 'n' roll, lads," said Graham MacPeak, signalling a forwardadvance at the crouch. The six, sprinting from side to side into and out ofthe shadows, covered the 200-yard dash in 30 seconds and were still mysteriouslyunobserved by guards in the watchtowers who were either asleep, on drugs orlooking at Isabel's and Moira's barred windows, hoping for a glance of theirbeautiful, chained bodies they saw only briefly during the day. They were tobe disappointed on that account but some serious excitement waited for themmoments later. The six Scotsmen arrived at the gatehouse, panting and perspiringin the humid night, and looked around quickly. No one in the guard towers hadapparently heard or seen anything and the gate guards had not been missed.The sons hastily hauled the four dead bodies out of sight into the guardhouse.

The commandos, whose faces were already blackened, switched uniforms withthe dead guards and took their places at the security checkpoint – allin less than a minute – while Peter and Graham gauged the distance tothe cellblock-cum-apartment building that housed their chained wives and dida quick inventory of their ammunition and supplies. "Let's make a run for it;I can see a doorway on this side of the building that will give us some coverif we are seen," Peter said to Graham. "We must have the C-4 and fuses readyto blow the door as soon as we arrive. Hopefully, they're there -- and safe." "Right,Peter; I'm for it. And so are the boys," Graham replied. "But I think the shooting'sabout to start." He nodded over his shoulder as searchlights started movingabout the gate and guardhouse and along the courtyard to the small prison holdingIsabel and Moira. Peter thought he could hear the actions of machine guns beingcleared but hoped it was just his imagination. "Get the boys in here, Graham,and we'll make a dash for it – in threes – we'll cover you fromhere and you may have to shoot your way to that doorway." Moments later, thehellfire of semiautomatic gunfire, probing searchlights and exploding handgrenades was loosed on the palace compound as Graham and his two sons sprintedthe 50 yards to the cellblock doorway, firing their SMGs at the guard towersas they ran, while Peter and his boys provided covering fire with SMGs, riflesand well-tossed hand grenades. The dodging, heart-stopping sprint took 15 secondsand, miraculously, no one was hit or wounded, although two of the searchlightswere shot out by sheer luck. Then, it was Peter's and his sons' turn. Theyquickly covered the 50 yards and made the now-crowded, six-ft.-deep doorwayjust as a hail of machine-gun fire raked past, spraying them with dirt, graveland shrapnel. They, too, were uninjured and inside, Moira and Isabel coweredin their bedrooms in their chains, paralysed by fear wondering if they wereabout to be killed, helpless and silent as they were in chains and gags. Peter'ssons placed the C-4 plastic in strips and gobs against the locked heavy oakdoor, set the charge and – "Bang!" – the door splintered on itshinges, allowing the six raiders into the short hallway between the women'scells and out of the guards' gunsights.

"Haaaaaa!" Isabel yelled at the top of her lungs, gasping in fear and excitement,as she clinked and clattered her chained way to the cell doorway. Moira wasstill making her slow progress out of her bedroom as Isabel staggered to greether family on the other side of the barred door that was locked in front ofthe now-splintered oak door. Peter looked in awe and sorrow as his frightened,heavily-chained and gagged wife for the first time in months. "Isabel – Migod,are you all right?" Isabel nodded silently, her face and mouth betraying anguishand joy at the sight of her beloved husband, blackened by face paint and gunsmoke,panting with exhaustion in front of her. "Get more C-4 up here and blow thisdoor!" Peter ordered. The boys acted promptly and Isabel was ordered to takecover just as Moira opened her door fearfully. Isabel retreated a few pacesand knelt down, covering her face with her chained hands. "Bang!!" and thebarred celldoor fell sideways. Peter and the boys rushed in to take chargeof the situation and could not believe their eyes when they saw Isabel, naked,deeply tanned, ring-gagged and chained by five, 30-ft. tethers attaching hercollar, wrist and ankle cuffs to ringbolts in the concrete living-room wall. "Bang!!!" andMoira's cell door fell uselessly to the floor as Graham and her boys ran into release her. Outside, the palace guards sprang into action and pepperedthe outside doorway with small-arms and machine-gun fire, daring not to tryand re-take the building by force of arms. The six Scotsmen fought like a riflesquad and the guards were unsure of the numbers of the attackers. The MacPeakboys took up riflemen's positions at the small, barred living room window whileGraham sorted their weapons and ammunition. Graham showed Moira how to reloadthe Sterling submachineguns and her years of mechanical ability paid off asshe grabbed the weapon in her heavily-chained arms, followed Graham's instructionsand snapped the curved magazines in quickly and easily, trying to smile ather husband as she did so. Graham could not get over the dramatic, sexy appearanceof his beautiful wife, chained and gagged as she was, naked and deeply tannedfrom long weeks in the canefields, and felt himself getting erect while hisboys set up a deafening return fire into the guard towers, forcing them tokeep their heads down. In the Metcalfe apartment the same thing was going on:Peter had shown Isabel how to reload the rifles, SMGs and pistols, which shedid although not as swiftly as Moira, but she was able to drag her chains andcarry the loaded weapons to the windows where Peter and her boys were firingsteadily at the guard towers. After a minute of accurate sniper fire from thesons, all searchlights had been shot out and Peter and Graham told their boysto aim carefully, conserve ammunition and keep their heads down. The firefightcontinued for 10 minutes and Isabel and Moira, dragging their heavy chainsbehind them, helped keep their husbands and sons resupplied with loaded pistols,rifles and machine guns. But It was going to be a fight to the death, theyall realized, as their opponents appeared to have much more ammunition andweapons than they did. Peter and Graham looked at their wives and suddenlyrealized they had to be released from the chains that were locked to theircollars, handcuffs and leg irons. This was no time for the patient, time-consuminglock-picking exercise the boys had used to extract them from their Ushwantprison cells the night before. Peter packed C-4 plastic around the five ringboltsanchoring Isabel's chains to the concrete wall and ordered her to lie flaton her stomach and cover her ears while he wired all five charges to explodesimultaneously. Blang !! and Isabel's five chains fellin heaps on the floor around her, releasing her from the wall. She could walk,just barely, and had five long trails of chain dragging behind her at everystep. In Moira's apartment, Graham watched as Peter freed his wife from thewall and ordered Moira to do the same as he blasted the five ringbolts freefrom the concrete wall in her living room. That would prove his undoing. Afteranother 10 minutes of trading potshots, Graham and Peter decided it was timeto go: they would have to carry their wives out through the doorway, througha fusillade of fire across the compound and they knew it would be a miracleif they made it out alive. "We're going to have to carry you out, Isabel; it'sthe only way," Peter said. Isabel nodded as Graham told his wife the same thing.Quick-thinking and resourceful but extremely tired, Peter called out the plan:Graham's two boys would make a dash back to the guardhouse under cover firefrom the Metcalfes; Graham would carry Moira, followed by Peter and Isabel,and the Metcalfe boys would bring up the rear with covering fire from thosewho had made it to the guardhouse. "This might work!" Peter said prophetically. "Letme know when you're ready." The plan was explained to the boys, still on guardat the windows, their weapons as their sides, and they nodded in grim agreementas the darkness deepened in the compound, lit only here and there by the flashand crack of a guard's rifle. "It's now or never," Peter told Isabel, gentlymoving his fingers through her hair sliding it away from her face. The MacPeakboys moved up to the door and took off, running like hares across the compound,making the distant guardhouse in seconds. Not a shot was fired. Graham andMoira were next: the big, red-haired Scot picked up Moira in his strong armsand sprinted an awkward zigzag with his chained wife in his arms, her chainsdragging behind her. Moira's trailing chains tangled around Graham's anklesand he and Moira were pitched suddenly forward as a shot rang out, sharply,quietly, from a guard tower. Graham gasped, sighed and fell to his knees asa little red spot widened on his chest. His jaw sagged open and his visionblurred as he saw his wife for the last time. He dropped her and collapsedat her side, dead, Scottish blood oozing dark red into the foreign gravel,his open, sad eyes looking sightlessly into mysterious, deep and starless nightsky. "Moo-ooo-hhh, Ggggg-mmm, mmmnn-ooo!!" Moira howled in animal intensityas she fell against him, offering her body as a shield against any more bullets.None came. The oldest MacPeak boy, galvanized by the wrenching scene, ran outfrom the safety of the guardhouse, swooped his mother up in his rangy armsand carried her out of the compound into the guardhouse. Again, not a shotwas fired. Peter and Isabel, in each other's arms, saw the dreadful sight butPeter, ever resolute, knew that to stay where they were meant probable death.He kissed his wife firmly on her upper, ring-gagged lip, picked her up andran for all he was worth. Halfway across, he stumbled, losing his balance andhe and Isabel, too, tumbled into a heap not far from Graham's lifeless bodyas a palace guard sniper drew a bead on Peter's head through his scope. Crack !and Peter lay motionless, shot through the temple. His two sons ran out asone, picked Isabel up easily in a fireman's carry and ran to the guardhouse.

With no time to waste, the boys had to make the heart-rending decision toleave their fathers' bodies behind -- the risk was too great to retrieve them – asthey carried their mothers the remaining 200 yards to the rocky outcroppingand the van. They literally threw their mothers in the back and piled intothe van, the oldest Metcalfe hopping behind the wheel as the Chevrolet vanroared off into the silent night as crewmembers in Venusian spacecraft DDE224-A,hovering unseen in the black sky at 3,000-ft., watched with passive interest.The two MacPeak boys sat in the back with their mothers, cranking down therear windows to poke their rifles out and fire back in case of pursuit. Thevan sped across the desert at 85 m.p.h., shaking everyone and everything violentlyas the boys looked at the tangle of chains that wound around every limb oftheir mothers' bodies in the adrenalin-fuelled amazement and bewilderment feltby combat troops who had just fought a desperate action. Isabel and Moira heldopen their chained arms to hug and thank their boys for their rescue and theycollapsed in a sobbing mix of disbelief, fear and shock at the sudden deathsof their fathers and husbands and their sudden deliverance from slavery. Lifewould never be the same, they thought, as they looked back at the now fully-litdesert palace, wondering if they, too, had long to live. The van sped acrossthe desert leaving the desert palace far behind as the boys spread plasticgroundsheets over their mothers' naked frames. The van lurched and bouncedover the rough desert terrain and Isabel and Moira tried desperately to freetheir mouths from their gags so they could speak with their sons. The ringswere still firmly in place as they switched to the locks holding the long chainsattached to their collars and wrist and ankle cuffs. The little brass padlockswere on securely and they returned to try and pry the ring-gag wires off theirteeth, again to no avail. They were determined not to give in to their chainsand struggled valiantly to ungag themselves, unsuccessfully. Soon, the adrenalinrush began to wear off and their eyelids began to droop in fatigue. They slumberedas the van continued to speed down the rough desert road and awoke as it lurched,90 minutes later, onto the smooth, two-lane coastal highway that would takethem into the capital city.

The van slowed to 75 m.p.h. down the highway and six pairs of eyes were gluedto the rearview mirror and through the rear windows looking for any sign ofpursuit. The highway ribboned backwards into the black night. An hour later,the first lights of the Ushwant capital glimmered on the southern horizon andthey soon saw a brightly lit hospital sign on their left. Brian, the driver,turned in sharply and drove quickly into the large H-shaped building with "emergency" paintedin bold letters over a pair of double doors to the right of the parking lot.The sons agreed that one from each family would accompany their mothers intothe hospital and provide moral support to them while the other two would driveinto the city to alert Scotland Yard, Interpol and the local police, in thatorder. They were reluctant to bring in the local authorities but thought furtherthat not to do so would invite consequences. One son from each family kissedtheir mothers firmly on the cheek, wished them well and said they would beback as soon as they had accomplished their mission in the city just as thevan pulled up in front of the emergency and discharged two shaken, chainedwomen and their 19-year-old sons into the brightly-lit triage centre of theUshwant national hospital. The van sped off into the night as the triage nurselooked up solemnly from her paperwork and medical equipment and ran over toIsabel and Moira, still covered in groundsheets, and guided them onto gurneys.Without a word, the nurse replaced the groundsheets the two chained women wereholding around their shoulders, doing their best to avoid tripping over thetangle of chain that followed them, and slipped green hospital dressing gownsover their shoulders. Another nurse, with sad eyes and telltale reddish-whitescuff marks from the shackles she, too, had worn for years on her wrists andankles, took the sons to a nearby conference room to take their statementswhile their mothers' vital signs were monitored. Isabel and Moira were putinto separate, curtained-off cubicles and, soon, three white-coated ER doctorsand three stocky nurses were by their sides. The nurses cleaned off Isabel'sand Moira's forearms with surgical alcohol and started IV lines with salineand a mild sedative while the doctors began assessing their physical and psychologicaltraumas.

Seeing no respiratory distress, cardiovascular failure or wounds, a doctorasked Isabel: "Can you please tell us what happened to you?" The young doctorwas immediately embarrassed by the futile question when he saw the steel gagstill in place behind her teeth. "Oh, we'll get that off very quickly, thenyou can speak to us so that we can determine what tests and treatments we willneed to do." He rushed away to get more help and soon, two burly orderliesequipped with boltcutters and hacksaws appeared and began work cutting offthe long chain tethers still attached to Isabel's and Moira's collars, wristcuffs and leg irons. Five, 30-ft. lengths of hardened steel chain fell victimto the jaws of the hospitals only two boltcutters but when the tools were appliedto their alien cuffs and chains, not a dent was made in them, much to the consternationof the several doctors and nurses who were now rushing about busily checkingeach woman's vital signs, blood pressures, heart rates and drawing blood forlab analysis. (It is a modern, well-equipped hospital). Isabel and Moira weretoo exhausted, physically and emotionally, to respond and lay and watched throughtired eyes as hands and arms moved over and around them. Soon the sedativesbegan taking effect and a surgeon was summoned to examine and remove the gags.Dr. Ismail Prakesh, the on-duty general surgeon, arrived and looked carefullyat Isabel's mouth then at Moira's face. Within minutes, using forceps, smallwirecutters and wedges, he had cut the wires holding their rings gags in placeand Isabel's and Moira's jaws dropped involuntarily as their facial musclestried to contract again after their long inactivity. Isabel reached to herjaw with her chained hands and massaged her lips and gums, running her tongueover the teeth that had been wired so long. "Shank you, doctor," she said finally,the first comprehensible words she had spoken in months. Moira moaned and groanedas she, too, felt the soft contours of her mouth and lips that had been stretchedunnaturally for the same long time. Dr. Prakesh then consulted the other attendingphysicians and began writing his report while another nurse looked suspiciouslyat Isabel and Moira, still lying on the gurneys in their slightly-lighter loadof chains. Isabel and Moira were now bound by five pounds of chains linkingtheir wrists, ankles and vaginas -- a load considerably lighter than the 25pounds of links they dragged behind them into the hospital an hour earlier.Dr. Prakesh's scrawled report stated:

"Two white, female patients were admitted to Ushwant national hospital at0200 hrs, 16 January, 1976, with sons in attendance. They were conscious butconfused, anxious and bound in chains and manacles of a sort never before seenin this hospital. Both women, apparently of Scottish origin, have steel collars,wrist and ankle cuffs affixed but no locks, bolts or fastenings are apparent.Large seamless rings are pierced through nipples and vaginas. No signs of infectionor trauma. Nipple rings are chained and the lower of each woman's pair of vaginalrings are connected by single chains to their ankle chains that allows themto stand upright without significant tension to labia majora. Long, heavy chainspadlocked to their collars, wrist cuffs and ankle cuffs were removed with boltcutters;however, all attempts to cut or remove the cuffs and rings were unsuccessfulas the metal was too dense to be detached with hospital equipment. Most unusual. "Eachwoman's mouths were propped wide with steel rings wired in place between theirupper and lower canine and premolar teeth. I carefully removed these ringswith wirecutters and forceps while they were under sedation. Their facial andjaw muscles are weak, without wasting, due to long placement of the gags, nodoubt, but tone in these muscle groups will restore naturally and they shouldregain speech although some therapy may be in order as they have not exercisedtheir vocal cords for months and there are bound to be some speech-clarityissues. According to statements from their sons, the women apparently havebeen chained for a long time and worked hard in a colony known to employ slavelabor somewhere in the Ushwant desert. Despite these allegations, they arein robust condition with BP 120/70, p. 62, resp., 12/min., at 0215, 16/1/76.There are no deformities, posture good but ambulation poor, owing to theirchained limbs which are, nevertheless, healthy in musculature and tone. Evidenceof previous childbirths, breasts healthy, significantly augmented with silicone-and-salineimplants, slightly pendulous and heavy, each left breast branded with an Ushwantiideogram stating "slave - beast of burden", well-formed nipples bilaterally;good general health, deeply suntanned, no sign of melanoma.

"Refer to ICU and 'step-down' unit with followup psychiatric evaluation andmonitoring. Orthopedics, speech therapy advised. Their sons, interviewed byDr. I MacLennan, MD, allege the women, known as Mrs. Isabel Metcalfe and Mrs.Moira MacPeak, have endured long-term bondage and mistreatment in the desertand at the state prison. "They apparently were kidnapped in northern Scotland,transported to Ushwant in bondage, imprisoned, sold as slaves and sent to thedesert colony where they were rescued by their husbands and sons in an overnightcommando-style raid. Their husbands, Peter and Graham, were apparently shotand killed during the attempt. I have no independent confirmation of this allegedviolence at this time. The attached statements, signed by the two sons, givemore information in this matter. "Continuing saline IV and sedative and morphinefor 24 hours. Pts. to be checked every two hours for vital signs, conditionchanges." Ismail Prakesh I. Prakesh, MD

Isabel and Moira dozed under the effects of the morphine and sedative whileone of the ER nurses, a confidante of Sheik Abbadi, telephoned the sheik athis desert compound to inform him of the arrival of his rescued slaves whowere now under the care of the state hospital and asked for instructions. "Returnthem at once, alive and in good condition, to Abbadi palace," was the tersereply. She immediately went to the nurses' station and wrote out a fictitiouspatient-transfer request authorizing the hospital to release the two womeninto the care of ambulance attendants for transfer to another hospital in thecentral part of the city where police and state officials would have readyaccess to them as a criminal investigation would soon begin. The ruse workedand, soon, Isabel and Moira, still groggy from the desert experience and theeffects of the intravenous drugs, were disconnected from their IV lines andtheir gurneys were loaded into a modern ambulance, while their sons were detainedin another part of the hospital to wait for police investigators. The ambulancevanished into the night; not towards the downtown but out into the desert fromwhence they came. Isabel and Moira, still well-sedated and re-connected toIV during transport, were compliant and barely aware of the trick to returnthem to captivity.

When they emerged from their stupors three hours later, they saw their familiarsurroundings partially demolished by the raid a few hours previously, and theywere lifted bodily off their gurneys and hustled into two cells in the basementof the palace, immediately below the salon where they participated in Saturdaynight socials for months on end. "Moira, can oof hear me?" Isabel whisperedfrom her cell. "Yeff, I can hear foo, Ifabel. Thiff iff the firft time I'vebeen able to fpeak in monff, fo . . . . " "We'fe been fricked again. We'revack affa palaff compound but at leeft we can falk. Fome doctor waf able toremoff our gagf an' a lot of our chainf are gone. Maybe we can make a breakiff we can bribe fome offa guardfff. I fink our only chip iff our bodief. Now,iff only fomeone will come by." Isabel tried in vain once again to slide thewrist cuffs down but they were implacable as ever. She only glanced at herankle cuffs and knew they would not budge. Ever.

MEANWHILE . . .

Back at the hospital, the sons had been thoroughly dupedby the duplicitous nurse and some of her ER staff colleagues. The sons, returningto the ER after giving brief statements to two Ushwanti police officers, calledthe large hospital in the central part of the city and were shocked to be informedtheir mothers had not yet arrived. They knew, instantly, they had been tricked.Meanwhile, in the desert-palace cells, Isabel and Moira continued to plan theirsex-for-freedom gambit as their guards, male and female, came by to check onthem, give them food and drink, miraculously free of aphrodisiac, and chatwith them briefly about the rescue attempt. They were told five guards – fourat the main gate and one in a guard tower – were killed during the attemptbut that the sheik had ordered them not to be chained additionally becausehe had further plans for them. He wanted to give them time, a guard said, torecover from their recent ordeal, while the palace got itself back into workingorder. Next day, the five dead palace guards were buried, the bodies of PeterMetcalfe and Graham MacPeak were picked up by the ambulance crew and takento the state hospital for autopsies and Isabel and Moira listened while a backhoeand other heavy equipment demolished the cellblock-apartment building theyhad lived in for the past 5½ months.

Five nights later, after their sons had turned every city hospital upsidedown looking for their mothers, Isabel and Moira participated in their firstlesbian love tryst with a pair of 30-something female guards who just wantedto sit with them, caress their breasts, and kiss them. The half-hour sexualencounters were in exchange for a promise to leave the cellblock unattendedand their doors unlocked, under the pretence that Isabel and Moira would beable to walk about the compound for exercise while their chains ensured theywould be unable to dash away. The guards, unusually accommodating and friendly,agreed to their request and next day, Isabel and Moira were surprised to seetheir cell doors unlocked and the heavy oak door at the end of the corridorslightly ajar. Isabel and Moira walked out into the daylight, saw the ambulancewas still in the prison compound and Moira told Isabel she thought she mightbe able to hot-wire it, if she had a half-chance. Isabel and Moira walked asnonchalantly as they could, naked and in chains, their large, heavy breastsswaying to and fro with every 18-in. stride, while guards in the watchtowerswatched, bemused at their chained progress -- toward the unattended ambulance.Their constant nudity was not an issue; they were desperate to escape and theirlack of clothing did not matter at all. The ambulance?! They might try to escape!!The guard at the main gate was not alerted and it would take the guards inthe watchtowers a minute to climb down and intercept the two women whose feetnow were going pell-mell with rapid, 18-in. strides that chafed their anklesseverely. Moira was the first to arrive and she dived up into the driver'sside, snagging her wrist chains on the door handle, untangled herself and foundthe keys were still on the dashboard. Isabel struggled up the step into thepassenger side. Moira started up the Ford ambulance van and the engine roaredinto life. "Hang on Iffabel, here we go!" Moira shouted with glee as she grippedthe big steering wheel with both hands, her right foot extended, pulling herchains taut as she tramped on the accelerator.

The rear wheels spun gravel and the boxy, white vehicle reached 30 m.p.h.in three seconds. Moira slammed through the barbed-wire gates at 50 m.p.h.as though they were matchsticks and although the radiator steamed, they weresoon back in the desert leaving the palace far behind them while the guardsmilled about in confusion, cursing their own inattentiveness and negligence.It was early Saturday morning and the regular guards had gone home for theweekend. Also, there were no other vehicles in the palace at the time, thesheik was away on business and the getaway ambulance had three-quarters ofa tank of fuel. Moira, savoring freedom for the first time in months, drovelike a woman possessed as Isabel watched her usually-reserved mate with amazementand admiration. "You're quite fa drifer, Moira," Isabel complimented. "Fryflowin' down a liffle; you're doin' 80, we're not being purfued and we mightneed to fave gaff." Moira agreed and the van slowed to 60 m.p.h. as it spedacross the rough desert trail. Both women wondered what outlandish situationwould confound them next. Isabel hoped quietly her speech would restore soonas she wiped some drool off her lower lip with her left hand. Moira was toobusy trying to keep the ambulance on the dusty desert trail as the miles spedpast. Soon, the black ribbon of the two-lane coastal highway loomed on theeastern horizon and the ambulance lurched onto the highway as Moira turnedsouth toward the capital city and the first police station they saw. They hadno idea where their sons were at the time and they kept a sharp eye out forany sign of four young white men who might, just might, happen along the highway.Isabel turned around and looked in the rear of the ambulance to find somethingshe could drape over her shoulders to cover her nakedness if they ever didfind their sons. She pulled two white sheets off the stretchers on either sideand put it over herself like a cloak and placed the other beside Moira. Moiralooked at the sheet and nodded to indicate she would put it on later. An hourlater, driving down the coastal highway towards the city, they saw a smalltight group of four white youths. "Iff 'em!" Isabel cried. "Iff haff to befem. Hurry up, Moira, I haffa fee fair fafes," she said, brushing a tear awayfrom her dirty, deeply-tanned face.

Moira tramped on the accelerator and the ambulance hit 85 m.p.h., closingthe half-mile distance quickly. Moira honked the ambulance's horn as she pulledup to the group and the four young men turned around as one and instantly recognizedtheir mothers inside the emergency vehicle. Moira braked and rolled down thewindow and told her first son: "Fop inna faack; wefa loffa falking to do." Theson patted his mother's arm and the four ran around to the rear, opened thedouble doors and piled in as the ambulance sped off into the city. Much ofthe conversation that ensued focused on their mothers' conditions, the anguishand anxiety of the sudden deaths of their fathers, insistence on going to thepolice and state officials to lay criminal charges and effect their releasefrom the country and how each person had coped with the trauma and crises ofthe past few months. The sons averted their glances when the white sheets coveringIsabel's and Moira's frames fell away here and there to reveal a deeply-tanned,branded bosom, a handcuff or a length of chain that adorned their bodies. "Mum,are you sure you're all right?" Moira's oldest son asked her finally, after25 minutes of intense, mother-and-son conversation and revelation, the sonsstraining to make sense of their mothers' garbled speech. "Yeff, fon, fonsideringwhaff Iffabel and I haf been fru, we're all right. I'll tell you more whenwe get to the polife ftation." The ambulance motored on into the suburbs ofthe Ushwant capital with Moira still capably at the wheel. Suddenly, Moirastarted to shudder and shake as the shock and fear of the past few months cavedin on her. Isabel looked at her friend and said: "Moira, fop the ambulanf atonfe!! Here, pull ofer, now; you're not well enough to drive," she said, holdingonto the wheel with her two chained hands while the boys in the rear lookedon, at once afraid for their mothers and their own safety, as the vehicle lurchedonto the narrow, clay shoulder. "Oy, mum, you two ought to be in the back andwe'll look after the driving," Isabel's oldest son said. "You've been throughenough so you should be in the back, on these little carts, and we'll lookafter the driving from here on in. In fact, I think I know where the nearestcop-shop is." With that, the boys clambered out the back of the ambulance andhelped their mothers out of the driver and passenger doors. The sons, stillreeling from seeing their mothers naked and chained during the assault on thedesert palace, were even more disturbed as Moira nearly fainted in her sons'arms as they helped her into the back of the ambulance. Moira's sheet fellaway from her body and her sons picked it up quickly and threw it inside thecab beside her. Isabel, slightly more robust than her friend, allowed her twoboys to take her by the arms while she clutched at her sheet to protect hermodesty and hoist her into the back beside Moira. "We'll be OK for now, boys;you take care of the driving, don't turn around for the next few minutes whileI get Moira sorted out here and let's find that police station," Isabel said,her speech clarity showing marked improvement with recent exercise of her disusedjaw and facial muscles. "Now go!!" Isabel helped her friend lie down on thenarrow stretcher and arranged her bedsheet over her busty body, covering herwith a blanket. Isabel then lay down on the stretcher on the other side andensured she was well-covered. The ambulance sped on. About 25 minutes later,Moira's sons recognized the Ushwanti symbol for police station and turned offthe highway into the dusty little parking lot with its small, whitewashed,concrete-block building and a couple of little black police cars parked infront. The boys assisted their mothers out of the rear of the ambulance anescorted them inside to greet a surprised desk sergeant. After briefly explainingtheir presence and their mother's unusual garb, the sergeant said he wouldreturn immediately with the chief of detectives. Moments later, Isabel andMoira were dictating their statements into running tape recorders while thechief of detectives, Nick Asswami, took copious notes. Two hours later, Isabeland Moira completed their statements and, by turns, covered events from theSeptember 1975 day they received invitations to Hotel Balmoral to meet Dr.Lord, in chains, to the present, January 16, 1976. Det. Asswami shook his headin disbelief and the desk sergeant stood in awe and admiration at the determination,fortitude and pluck of the women and their young sons to have endured suchperilous adventures, complete with bondage, kidnappings, slavery, rescue, recaptureand escape. "This sounds like the stuff of a weird adventure story but I believeevery word you have spoken today, Mrs. Metcalfe and Mrs. MacPeak," the detectivesaid.

"This matter obviously has international ramifications and it will most certainlyinvolve Interpol, Scotland Yard and the Northern Constabulary as well as thedepartments of foreign affairs of both our countries. "The suspects you havenamed in your statement -- Catherine, Joanne, Olivia and Sheik Abbadi and hismany consorts – have been known to police here and in Europe and GreatBritain for years but we have been unable to make our charges stick. They are,as you say, 'teflon-coated'," he smiled, "because the activities of this slaverycartel, in which Sheik Abbadi is a key executive, were extremely difficultto prove because no one in the past had been able, or willing, to come forwardand give statements and evidence such as you have today. We are extremely gratefulfor your cooperation and I would like to extend my deepest admiration for yourdetermination and resourcefulness that you have displayed by enduring the tribulationsas evidenced in your statements. "Please also accept my humble condolenceson the demise of your husbands. They sounded like brave men, indeed, and itis a rare privilege for me to be associated with people such as yourselvesand your sons." "Now, Mrs. Metcalfe and Mrs. MacPeak, I will have to ask youto be photographed so that we can begin assembling evidence to bring thesesuspects to justice." The desk sergeant hustled away and readied another roomnearby that held the police station's photographic equipment. ""May I haveyour approval for these photos, please?" the detective asked politely. Isabeland Moira agreed and they were ushered into the nearby room to have each oftheir bonds, chains and brands photographed and identified by Ursula, a policeofficer, while the boys gave their statements to the desk sergeant who alsoran the tape recorder and took reams of notes. Attorneys were telephoned, Isabel'sand Moira's stories were checked and re-checked and in 24 hours, 25 charges,ranging from murder and kidnapping to procurement and living off the availsof slavery, were developed, agreed to and approved. Warrants were issued forthe arrests of Abbadi, Olivia, Catherine and Joanne and several others directlyor indirectly related to the kidnapping and enslavement of Moira MacPeak andIsabel Metcalfe and the murders of their husbands, Graham and Peter. Moiraand Isabel, still swathed in their bedsheets, were shown into a witness waitingroom where Ursula offered them their first clothes -- a pair of sensible sundresses -- since the scanty items they had received at the Abbadi palace.

"Would you two ladies like some tea?" she offered. "I've just made a potof Twinings and . . . . " Isabel and Moira perked up at hearing their favoritetea brand and nodded enthusiastically, still stunned at the rapidity of incredibleevents that washed over them. Once they were slaves, now they are key witnessesfor the prosecution involving international slavery, kidnapping and murder. "MayI please see your handcuffs so they may be removed?" Ursula asked Isabel andMoira politely as they sat sipping their tea in their bedsheets, eyeing thedresses. Moira walked over and showed her the cuffs that encircled her small,tanned wrists and their 12-in. chain. Ursula examined them and shook her headat their implacable appearance. "I don't know how these come off," she saidfinally, "unless we cut them off." "They don't come off," Isabel interjected. "Youwould not believe the long, incredible story how we came to be like this. I'vealready covered some of the details in our formal statements so please don'tconcern yourselves with them. We may have to wear them for the rest of ourlives. Right, Moira?" Moira nodded, sipping her cup of Twinings, displayingno outward signs of distress at this realization. Ursula showed Isabel andMoira a pair of tropical sun dresses, sensible shoes and hats for them to wearand said she would wait outside while they got dressed. Moira, setting hertea down on the desk, clinked over to the neatly-folded dress and held thefirst one up against her bosom. "This might fit," she said, her voice restoringwonderfully as well. "My measurements have changed -- and 'er chained -- awhole lot since I last tried on a dress but let's see if we can squeeze intothem, Is. Hee-hee." It was the first light moment they had experienced in months.The two women wriggled into the sun dresses awkwardly, setting their chainsa-clatter, and managed to button the spaghetti straps over their shoulders.They stepped into the comfortable loafers and, once again, looked presentableexcept for their steel collars, handcuffs and chains that depended from undertheir knee-length hemlines to their leg irons. Except for the chains, theycould have been Scottish tourists on vacation in Africa instead of recently-freedslaves.

Det. Asswami knocked on the door and said police forces had been dispatchedto the Abbadi palace to round up the suspects, bring them in for questioningand the laying of charges. "Would you please identify them in a lineup in thenext day or so?" he asked formally. "Yes, we certainly will," Moira and Isabelchorused, clenching their fists in their handcuffs with excitement and resolution. "Verywell, then; I have been authorized to offer you two hotel accommodation, underpolice guard, of course, until our suspects have been arraigned in court anda trial date set; this may take several days, of course, and in the meantime,we will contact your government and Scotland Yard so that your return to Scotlandwill be completed as expeditiously as possible. After trial." This latter statementsank home heavily as Isabel and Moira became suddenly aware they would be theprosecution's key witnesses. "We need to talk to a lawyer," Isabel replied. "We'venever testified before in court and we want to be advised of our rights." "Ofcourse, and all in good time. You will be given a court-appointed lawyer incoming days. Rest assured your rights will be protected and that these suspectswill feel the full effects of the law, if they are found guilty." Det. Asswamibeamed as he thought of the possibility of a promotion in bringing the sheikand his clan to justice – a major coup for his small unit. "Of course,they are innocent until pr. . . ." "Oh, aye, they're guilty all right," Moirablurted. "Look what they've done to us and our bodies," she said, "shakingher handcuffs are him for emphasis. "I was a free woman, happily married, beforeI was kidnapped and saw my husband murdered before my eyes. Isabel and I enduredslavery, we were worked almost to death for months on end, chained all theAs well, Isabel and I had sensible figures before; now, we look like big-tittedbimbos from Hollywood Hell, USA. Do you know how heavy these tits get, luggingthem around every day? Put two 10-pound bags on your chest and walk aroundall day and see what it's like, mon!" Moira surprised even herself at her angryburst and Det. Asswami blushed and excused himself while Ursula re-enteredto offer them a drive to a luxury hotel, under police guard, in the centralpart of the city.

They were shown out to a waiting police car and driven to a swank hotel inthe downtown core where they were greeted by management and escorted by freightelevator to the penthouse. Isabel and Moira were reunited with their boys,who marvelled at the dramatic change in their mothers' appearance, and thesix Scots enjoyed first-class accommodation and meals, at government expense,until they were summoned officially to identify the suspects in a lineup threedays later. Isabel and Moira were quick to identify their kidnappers, the slave-auctionmaster of ceremonies and Abbadi himself to Det. Asswami who grinned and turnedquickly solemn. "You are certain these are the people you have identified?" Moiraand Isabel nodded. "They will, therefore, be placed in custody and will appearin court tomorrow for arraignments on a total of 25 extremely-serious chargeseach. "Life imprisonment is the ultimate penalty in Ushwant, and if convictionsare secured, then these people will never walk free again, rest assured ofthat." Meanwhile, a female doctor from Edinburgh, Scotland, along with seniorgovernment officials from Great Britain and Ushwant had arrived to respectivelyexamine them for fitness to appear as trial witnesses and advise them of theirreturn-travel arrangements and the interest each government had in their testimonies.The Scottish doctor conducted a cursory examination of the woman's bodies,hemming and hawing at their steel bonds and, after asking a series of questionspronounced them physically and psychologically fit to provide evidence forthe prosecution. The government officials then stepped in and advised themhow appreciative each authority was of their evidence and that they were beingconsidered for formal commendations by the governments of Great Britain andUshwant. The trial, they were told, would begin in about one week and theywere to stay in the penthouse until summoned. The week passed uneventfullyand Isabel and Moira were bemused to read the local newspapers' accounts ofthe police investigations, arrests in the desert and arraignments of the 10people who had a total of 25 charges read out to each of them.

Each pleaded not guilty and the trial would be in six days. Moira and Isabelhad received several more dresses from the hotel dress shop and, the day ofthe trial, were dressed in lovely, light summer outfits that displayed theirbosomy figures, deep tans and chains to outstanding effect. Moira and Isabeltried to hide their slave brands underneath their bodices that strained withthe weight of their heavy breasts. They and their sons were taken by escortto the courthouse, not far from the hotel, by police officers they did notrecognize and as soon as they made their difficult, short-stepped way up theentranceway into the imposing Justice Building, they were grabbed by bailiffsand placed into holding cells in a case of mistaken identity. The ex-slavescould not believe their misfortune but the bailiffs believed the police weredelivering inmates for some court procedure and had whisked them away to awaitassignment of a courtroom and time. The boys stood, mystified, in the cavernoushallways and stopped one of the bailiffs. "Those are our mothers you've takenaway, Mrs. MacPeak and Mrs. Metcalfe, of Scotland, and they are being heldby egregious error. Please them at once; they are witnesses for the prosecutionin the Abbadi case. Please!" Once more, they were released from their smallprison cells with profuse apologies from the director of security. Isabel andMoira were then led, their chains clinking noisily on the marble floors, toCourtroom No. 3 where the trial would begin. Isabel, Moira and their sons satthrough the opening procedure and, soon, all six were called as prosecutionwitnesses after piece after piece of evidence was brought out, identified andplaced in the record. Isabel and Moira were questioned and cross-examined politelyand the judge listened carefully as they recounted the many sordid events ofthe past 51/2 months, from Hotel Balmoral to Ushwant prison, to the canefieldsand dungeons, and to eventual release. After two days only of hearing witnesses,statements, affidavits and closing arguments from the prosecution and defence,the judge retired to consider a verdict. Court was adjourned and Isabel andMoira sighed in relief when they were told the judge's verdict would be deliveredin 24 hours.

Next day, they returned to the courtroom and the judge said he found all10 guilty on all counts and sentenced each to life imprisonment with no opportunityfor parole. Moira and Isabel, vindicated and relieved, shook hands and huggedwith a clatter of chain and walked out of the courtroom as the 10 suspectswere led away. Photographers and reporters gaggled on the steps outside thecourt and Isabel and Moira, with their sons in tow, stopped to have their picturestaken, holding their chained hands up in victory salute as flashbulbs popped.They were driven back to the hotel and told to get packed for their returntrip, direct from Ushwant international airport, to Prestwick, Scotland, viaexecutive jet. The women, still in their light sundresses, dozed during theseven-hour flight, restless in their seats as they tried to make themselvescomfortable, recalling a similar flight under dire circumstances several monthsago. The boys made plans for their fathers' funerals while the little jet dronedon over the skies of Africa, the Mediterranean, France, the English Channel,England, and finally, Scotland. The plane screeched down the main runway atPrestwick in late-January 1976 and slowed to turn onto the taxiway and ontothe apron in front of the arrivals platform. The Metcalfes and MacPeaks, exitingthe plane slowly at their mothers' restricted paces, were unprepared for thethrong of reporters and photographers that waited for them in the arrivalsarea and airport security officials escorted them quickly through customs andout through the double doors where limousines would drive them home to ruralRenfrewshire, 2½ hours away. Isabel and Moira, jet-lagged and incredulous,clinked and clattered up their stairways into their quiet little houses inrural western Scotland. They were home at last but did not feel comfortable.Each bade their sons good night and Isabel and Moira walked into their bedrooms,undressed and fell into bed, naked as usual, as sleep eluded them hour afterhour.

Each woman, restless and alone at home for the first time in many years,began to endure a series of flashbacks, some intense and some less so, as theirminds recalled kidnaps and operations, the terrible Ushwant prison and theirheavy chains – all crowded their minds as Isabel and Moira tossed andturned, tangling themselves in their chains uncomfortably night after night.Post-traumatic stress disorder had set in and Isabel and Moira and their sonsknew they needed medical attention right away. After two days and nights oftorment, Isabel called Moira to ask how she was getting on. "Not well, Isabel;the nightmares, you know," Moira replied. The boys also were having difficultysleeping, she said, and she planned to ask her family doctor for a referralto a psychologist as soon as possible. First, they had to get their husbands'funerals behind them and that sad occasion passed solemnly as Isabel and Moirapaid their last respects in the small-town church with its adjacent cemeterythey had attended since childhood. Isabel and Moira, still in their Africansun dresses, were warmed in the chill early February afternoon by woolen cloaksdraped over their tanned, muscular shoulders. Both women, standing still asstatues, wrung their chained hands in sorrow under the grey folds of theircloaks. Isabel's chains chinked softly but her shackles imparted a welcomesense of security. Her chains had become a part of her, a "friend, almost," andshe vaguely welcomed the clutch of metal on her wrists, ankles, neck and breastsduring the heartbreaking graveside scene. She knew she needed help -- fast.

Epilog Days after the funeral, Isabel and Moira saw their family doctorswho examined them and referred them to psychologists for tests and counselling.Isabel's and Moira's psychologists, Dr. Peter Hayward and Dr. Eoin MacDougall,of Ediburgh, said each woman was physically fit, despite their steel bonds(which they found sexually attractive but would never admit it), but confirmedPTSD was present and they would have to be treated immediately. The Scottish-trainedPhDs, who studied clinical psychology at the University of Edinburgh, weresingle, handsome and in their 30s.

They said they would do their best to help expunge Mrs. Metcalfe's and Mrs.MacPeak's demons -- and were successful after months of intensive therapy andcounselling. The fours sons, stalwart and stoic throughout, returned earlyto their Royal Navy units and received counselling at their home units, afterthey were paraded before their executive officer for being "adrift" for morethan 162 days. They recovered fully from their ordeals and were sources ofstrength and inspiration for their mothers who continued seeing their doctorsthree times a week. In late-1976, the doctors compared notes and found Isabeland Moira had progressed slowly but steadily and were well on their way torehabilitation. Their patients' dreams were recurring less and less and theirdaily lives were returning to normal slowly. Both women began dating theirdoctors and Isabel, who resigned from the University of Edinburgh's metallurgydivision that year, fell in love with Dr. Hayward. They became engaged in 1978and were married in1980, the same year Moira, who had also resigned from themill, and Isabel were summoned to the town hall to receive bravery commendationsfrom the Scottish government – for "courage, fortitude and unwaveringdetermination in the face of appalling conditions and events" -- in the EastAfrican desert four years ago. The four sons also received commendations fromthe Royal Navy and were promoted to the rank of leading seaman, while theirfathers became legendary local heroes and their names and exploits were mentionednearly every week by nearly everyone who knew them – and those who didnot. In 1981, Isabel and Moira, still in chains, embarked on a public-speakingtour to describe, in first-person, the horrific events that swept them up in1975-76. They were interviewed and photographed over and over by the mediaand became the "brave duchesses of bondage" in the Scottish tabloid press.In 1990 - 1992, at age 50, Moira and Isabel received generous pensions fromthe government, the woolen mill and the University of Edinburgh. Further testsby Dr. Michael Ledstone, the metallurgist you met in Through Night to Light,showed Isabel's and Moira's collars, handcuffs, leg chains, nipple and vaginalrings and connecting chains all were of the same, immutable metallic matterthat defied science.

Later, Isabel and Moira married their doctors and the women, now financiallysecure with their tax-free government and (taxable) private pensions as wellas their husbands' incomes, set up a public relations firm specializing incommunications, public speaking, self-confidence and assertiveness training.Today, the women, still buxom, curvy and tanned in their early 60s, enjoy asatisfying and fulfilling sex life with their husbands after it was discoveredthat months and years of their chains tugging at their nether rings had elongatedtheir labia majora slightly to allow penetration. The sensations were "wicked," theirhusbands told Isabel and Moira privately, feeling the sensation of metal rubbingagainst inside their orifices as Isabel and Moira embraced their husbands duringtheir lovemaking with the same ardour as they did with Peter and Graham. (Butthey would not admit that to anyone; not even you, dear reader). Mrs. IsabelHayward and Mrs. Moira MacDougall can be seen on the streets of their littleScottish town every day, coming and going from their little storefront officeon High Street. They wear their chains proudly, almost like the bravery decorationsthey pin on their jackets once a year to mark the anniversaries of their latehusbands' murders, and they long ago adapted their posture and pace to accommodatetheir handcuffs and leg irons. Small diamond-and-pearl pendants hang from eachwoman's collar-loop and the rest of their chains have become a part of theirphysical and psychological makeups; they were able to accept them during theirslavery and, after years in the media limelight, Isabel and Moira can easilyfend off or ignore the few furtive glances and quiet comments that passers-byand their clients might display from time to time. Isabel and Moira dressedfashionably and sensibly long before their adventures in bondage began in themid-1970s. Still collared, handcuffed, pierced and chained as they were in1975, they have had to adapt their wardrobe to accommodate their unremovablechains and shackles. A look inside the women's closets will show rows of fashionabledresses, skirts and specially-tailored tops cut so they can be slipped on overtheir heads and arms and fastened at the sides. Their knee-length dresses allhave small shoulder straps that fasten with buttons or snaps at the tops oftheir bodices and they have given up long ago their search for a comfortablebra.

Their 48-G bustlines, in fact, have retained the same, heavy, teardrop shapethey had been given by their plastic surgeries in 1975. And they are pleasedand proud of their sexy, starlet-like figures and their clothes and figuresunderscore their pleasure with their bodies. They have become regular attendeesat concerts in Glasgow by the Royal Scottish National Orchestra and the Haywardsand MacDougalls never fail to turn heads at the upscale events when Isabeland Moira turn up in their snug, black, form-fitting, floor-length eveninggowns that reveal spectacular cleavage, their steel collars and handcuffs atonce. Their small strides, hidden in the graceful folds of their long dresses,give them a sexy, graceful walk as they take their seats front-row centre oncea month at the concert hall. Orchestra members have been known to miss theircues and entries as their attentions were diverted from their scores and theconductor to the sexy pair sitting 25-ft. away. I know; I was one. It happenedthe night the orchestra was accompanying a young female solo violinist in MaxBruch's extremely difficult Scottish Fantasy and,well, that's another story. Today, Isabel's and Moira's bank accounts are reportedto be in the seven-figure range; they and their husbands live in palatial countryhouses, drive Jaguars and expensive town cars and take extended vacations toSpain each year. The women have avoided travel to Africa although they havereceived invitations from the Government of the State of Ushwant to pay a courtesycall, at their expense. Each invitation has been ignored. Are Isabel Haywardand Moira MacDougall free women today? Or are they still slaves within? Youwill have to ask them.