For a moment Lynn had the wild idea of helping the poor, frustrated girl by teasing her
imprisoned body into a climax.  It should not be hard to do, given her already high state
of arousal; she was borderline climax already.  And that would certainly defeat the
purpose for which the white slavers had put her there.

But then she shook her head.  She was here to get a story, not to play games with unseen
white slavers.  Or their slaves.

Leaving the girl still bound to the post, still moaning softly, the vibrator still
happily humming its tiny song of joy, Lynn walked to the door and tried it.  It was
unlocked.  Opening it slowly, she peeked inside to find an empty hallway.

As Lynn entered and slowly closed the door behind her, she did not see the action
happening where she had just been standing.  The bound girl’s moans increased, as did her
hip action.  Quickly, her struggles built up until she was straining violently against the
ropes, shifting her knees and what she could of her hips from side to side in a hopeless
but frantic effort to free her trapped body.  Fingers fluttered in the twilight, the head
shook back and forth, and a strange combination of moans and tiny cries issued forth. 
Suddenly the body went rigid, legs ramrod straight, heels digging into the ground, head
pulled back the tiny amount allowed, and her hands clenched into fists.  A prolonged,
muffled but heartfelt moan escaped the gag as the feminine body tensed every muscle
against the unmoving wooden post and its embrace of ropes.  The body held that position
for impossibly long seconds, and then trembled all over.  Human muscles finally gave in
and the body went slack, knees bent, fingers hanging down, head bend forward.

Yet somewhere within that lovely package of feminine nudity, a small but powerful tool of
modern technology continued to function.  The helpless girl’s body could not ignore what
teased and tickled her so intimately.  She began with a sharp moan of anger and a shake of
the gagged head, as if crying out to the world, “No, not again!”  The nipples, which had
remained taut as if knowing more was to come, began slowly rising and falling in time with
her increased breathing.  The hips began slowly grinding and the soft moans started up
again.

During the entire sequence of events the girl’s eyes never opened.  She knew no one was
going to come for a long, long time.  And if anyone did, it would be only to tease or
inflict tiny tortures on her imprisoned body, neither of which she wished to witness
coming.  In her unspoken thoughts, the shapely, bound up girl both cursed that crotch rope
holding the vibrator deep inside for it to do its insidious work, and thanked it for
providing just the right friction and pressure to send her crashing into blinding ecstasy
not once but many times more in the long night to come.

Meanwhile, Lynn was making her way down the hallway, ready to turn and flee at the first
sign of discovery.  The thick carpet softened her footfalls into silence.  There were
several doors on each side and one at the end.  All were closed; none gave any indication
of what might be hidden behind the heavy oak panels.  She chose the first door on the
right, no different from any of the rest.  With her ear against the wood she listened, but
no hint came of what might be hidden within.  So she opened the door and peeked.  It was a
small room, lit by a single overhead light, and bare except for a nude girl standing in
its center.  Lynn slipped in and closed the door behind her.

It was the same redhead Lynn had seen yesterday on the trail, the one whose arms had been
bound, elbows touching, tighter and crueler than the others.  She was sort of standing. 
One foot was on the floor, but it looked as if she were holding the other foot behind her.
 Lynn circled, keeping near the walls, not knowing if the girl could see her in the dim
light.

The redhead was definitely in an enforced stand.  Her right arm was stretched towards the
ceiling by a metal cuff around the wrist and a chain.  It appeared to Lynn as if someone
had cut a pair of handcuffs in half and welded on a chain.  The other end was locked to a
ring in the ceiling next to the light.  The girl’s right leg was bent at the knee and
pulled up towards her left wrist, which in turn was pulled down to meet it.  What kept
them together was a pair of handcuffs, one bracelet around the wrist and the other around
the ankle.

It was a carefully executed piece of torture.  Her upper arm was pulled so high that only
the ball of her left foot could reach the floor.  And under that foot was a piece of
triangular shaped wood, sharp edge up.  It was painful to have to put your weight on the
inverted “V” of wood, but more painful to hang by the chained wrist.  And that raised leg
pulled down on the other wrist, forcing the metal edge of the handcuffs to dig into tender
flesh.  Perhaps the girl could force her leg up and take the strain off the wrist and
ankle.  But that could only last a while before the muscles would grow tired, the leg
would sag, and the heartless metal would again dig in.

As Lynn performed her inspection, the redhead’s eyes followed her where they could. 
There was pain and strain showing on that beautiful face, but also some puzzlement. 
Finally it was the redhead who broke the silence.

“Who are you?”