Treasure Hunt bondage story | chain, belt, slave island

She was a powerful little ship and beautifully rigged so that it was relatively easy for the two of them to handle. Not that cruising the deep blue sea could ever be easy but with a ship like this?

Tiffany had lain at ease on the coach-roof as the little ketch, Molly Anne, glided in on the falling breeze. The wind wasn't failing but, as they entered the cove and came more and more under the shelter of the great mountain peak, so the wind died away and they were able to ghost in under full sail. It was a perfect end to a perfect voyage on a perfect day. All they had to do was wait for the little craft to come so gently to near-standstill and then quietly drop the hook over the side. She watched it plunge down through the clear water and settle on the rock strewn bottom; not really the correct way to set an anchor, she believed, but then Dirk seemed to know what he was doing and she was content to leave it that way.

"Eat first or take a run ashore?" he asked as he came forward from the cockpit.

"Shouldn't we stow this lot first?" she countered, waving toward the gently flapping sails and other things that lay around.

"Of course. The ship must always come first - without it, where would we be? But I was referring to what shall follow the chores."

"Oh. Let's eat first then we can take our time and see what we can see."

Dinner proved a leisurely affair. Dirk had produced that gorgeous bottle of wine: "Saved it to celebrate success," he had said. "We're here - so..." Afterward they rowed ashore but the tropical sunset came with its usual swiftness and they were soon back on board. With some wine still remaining in the bottle Dirk proposed a night cap and, looking forward with excitement to tomorrow's expedition, Tiffany fell almost instantly asleep.

She awoke feeling heavy and sluggish, her head like a bullet. Dirk was gone and so she struggled out on deck to see him halfway between ship and shore rowing back.

"Hey. Awake at last," he called as he came alongside. Didn't have the heart to wake you so I went for a little look around."

"What the hell was in that wine?" She held her head in both hands as she looked at him.

"No effect on me," he said albeit a trifle smugly. "But not to worry. There's no more. Uncle Dirk prescribes a dip in the briny. That'll clear your head."

He climbed over the rail and, seeing her still sorry for herself and seemingly without any intention of following his advice, he picked her up and dropped her overboard. "I'll start some breakfast."

By the time she had stroked back to the surface, shaken the water out of eyes and mouth, snorted more from her nose and, treading water, had cleared her hair from her face she had to admit that the cure was effective. She swam to the dinghy, pushed between it and the ladder and climbed back on board with the wet oversize T-shirt clinging about her lithe figure.

Dirk regarded her with obvious pleasure. "You look absolutely... remind me to do that more often." But when he saw the empty wine bottle had appeared in her hand he ducked hastily back into the galley.

By the time they finally got ashore the sun was getting hot and Dirk suggested they head for the shade of the trees. He led off to their left. Tiffany trailed behind in no hurry to tramp up that mountain slope; she thought it better to wait until the Sun had lost some of its enthusiasm.

"That would mean getting caught up there as darkness falls," he had replied.

Large things had always fascinated her and this beach, where it edged on to the forest, had some remarkably big rocks, smooth and shining in the sunlight. She walked around the biggest and discovered a gap, like a miniature ravine, behind it and which had seemingly trapped all sorts of flotsam from the sea. There wasn't any evidence that the sea ever came up this far but then, when a tropical storm lashed this coast, it was more than likely that waves would penetrate this far.

Idly she kicked at the rubbish as she turned to go and a gleam, a bright metallic gleam, caught her eye. She kicked again and then abruptly got down on her knees and began to scrape around in the sandy mess. "Hey, Dirk. Dirk. Here, quick."

As Dirk came panting up she was still trying to uncover the object and, with both hands, was tugging at it. "What is it? What's wrong?"

"Bright," she panted. "Not tarnished. Heavy. Looks like gold!"

He knelt beside her and examined the metal band briefly then, drawing the knife from his belt, began to scrabble more deeply into the sand. Soon he had her trophy out and started sweeping and banging the sand out of it. "From its weight," he opined, "I'd definitely say it was gold."

"Then D

irk," breathlessly, "... it must mean there really is treasure here?"

"Hold hard. One swallow does not... as they say. But this alone must be worth a pretty penny should we sell it. The real question is... where did it come from and how did it get here?"

"But what the hell is it?"

He held it up. "From the look of it ... I'd say it's some kind of fetter. But who makes shackles out of gold?"

"Beauty of Merciless Domination - Realless FemDom Art"

"Why not?"

"Well, gold is comparatively soft. Wouldn't hold anyone for long."

"Hmm. They look pretty strong to me. Pretty thick stuff. But what exactly...?" Her brows puckered.

It consisted of a circlet about eight or nine inches across and perhaps three inches wide. From each side, dangling on short chains, there were two smaller circlets little more than two-inches in diameter and the same three-inches or so wide.

"Now those," he indicated the smaller ones; "Those could well be wrist cuffs. If so... then there is only one place the big one could go. Here...!"

He suddenly swung his arms around her and, before she had guessed any intention, he had closed it around her waist. "Yeah. Could have been made to measure."

It certainly fitted snugly around her middle. She took it in both hands and found that, although close fitting, she could wind it around herself. "Let's try the rest of it."

He grabbed her right hand and closed one of the smaller rings around her wrist. "Hey...!" But he moved with that smooth speed she had noticed in him before and, even before she had voiced her instinctive objection, he had the other hand secured too. As she stood there, pulling ineffectively at chains which held her hands but three inches from her waist, she looked up to see the perennial grin back on his face. "Yes," he said. "I like that. Like it very much. Now ... if we were just to wet that T-shirt again..."

"Dirk Ericcson," she said in her most menacing voice, "Don't even think about it. Now, take it off again."

"But I haven't taken your T-shirt off yet... for the first time."

You shook her head in disbelief: "Sometimes... get this thing off me."

"I suppose... well... let's hope... that it DOES unlock without a key?" Suddenly she found him infuriating and wanted dearly to swat that smirk from his face. But, even as she charged at him, her hands refused to come even as high as her boobs. "Hold on there; maybe ... yeah, there seems to be a keyhole here. Maybe the key was buried with it."

He knelt again and began to scrabble about in the sand. "What's this?" He pulled out another gold circlet attached to its own gold chain; he pulled and soon had a twelve-inch chain with yet another cuff on the other end. "Oh, yes." He dived full length to grab her leg around the shin and, even as she kicked out, he had one of the cuffs on her left ankle and, while she staggered off balance, he locked the other one to secure her in a hobble.

He rolled back out of her reach and regained his feet. Arms akimbo he surveyed his victim with more than a suggestion of satisfaction: "Not exactly a proper picture of a slave girl," he said, "but you're certainly getting that way."

"Dirk. This is NOT ... ". Inexplicably she stopped. There was something about her situation? She wasn't quite sure what... but.... She jerked at her hands and took a step forward. On smooth ground it would not have been difficult but, in the soft sand, it was a different matter. She went down and rolled helplessly.

Dirk was putting on a theatrical act; rubbing his hands together he said in a thick assumed accent: "It seems, my pretty, that I have you at my mercy? Now you must be a good, very good, slave girl and do exactly as Uncle Dirk prescribes."

"Dirk." Between spitting out mouthfuls of sand, she was using that mother-to-tiresome-child-voice again. "We came here for a purpose. We came ashore for that purpose. We seem possibly on the brink of success. Can't these games wait... at least until this evening?"

"OK. OK. But how do you suggest I take it off? It's obvious it needs a key... and a key we haven't got."

"Idiot. You should have thought of that before you started arsing about."

"Oooh, language. Shouldn't you be careful about being rude? Suppose I should decide not to help you get it off?"

"Huh. Ever heard of shooting yourself in the foot? How're you going to get between my legs tonight with this thing on my feet?"

"Tiff. Sometimes you're positively crude."

"That doesn't answer the question."

"So? You don't have any suggestions and it's up to me to think of something? The real question is how did this lot get to be buried here? All together in one hole like this... it couldn't have washed ashore. Anyway, it's far too heavy to wash around in the sea. Suppose we go on with the search? See if we can find the hoard... if there is one."

"And how do I search an island chained up like this?"

He thought for a moment. "Seems there are only four options. You can't fly and so... "; He ticked them off on his fingers: "One - you wait here while I search. Two - you walk as best you can. Three - you hop. Four - you stay down there and roll. Of course, there is another... I'll dig some more and make sure a key is not buried there."

She rolled her eyes heavenward with her palms turned out - a gesture of utter contempt for his puerile jokes. Then, turning her back, she pulled her feet under her and sat staring at the sea and the little ship riding serenely at her anchor.

He had turned away from her and began to probe the sandy hole again with his knife. Soon he pulled out yet another gold circlet this time about five inches diameter with a long chain attached. He looked over his shoulder but she was staring determindly at the sea. With a smile he cleared the sand from his find and stepped softly behind her. The ring went round her neck and closed with a soft click. Her hands shot up but, as before, could get no higher than her bumps.

As she turned, furious, he laid his fingers across her lips: "Not a word," he cautioned in a voice she had never heard him use before. "You're caught. Well and truly caught. And now, for the first time, you are going to do what I tell YOU. You've always been a little too high and mighty for my liking but you did serve my purpose ideally. Now... up!" He shook the chain so that the collar rattled against her neck. "Get up and I'll show you the rest of the surprise I set up for you this morning early."

"Surprise?" It was all she could think of to say.

"Do you really think all these things came there by chance? Must confess though that you found them long before I had planned. But... what the hell. Come on, it's not so very far."

He set off dragging her stumbling behind him "I can't keep up with you unless you take this damned thing off my feet. TAKE IT OFF, NOW!"

"You've always been so good at mouthing off." He had turned, arms once more akimbo, and regarded her with an expression she could not fathom. "We're going to have to correct that. But the chain stays on. Learn to be careful." And he set off again.

"I'll not be treated like this. Now stop it. And for the last time... get me out of these things."

He stopped. Coming back to her he seized her hair and pulled her head back: "You're not in a position to make the rules. Now shut up or I'll fill your mouth with more of this lovely golden sand. It's now my game ... for that matter it always was. Now. Do you want to follow me - QUIETLY - or do you want to spend the rest of the day buried in the sand ... up to your neck?"

Tiffany was at a loss. The sudden change in Dirk baffled her. Something had gone wrong in her life. She stared at him. "Well," he demanded, "which would you prefer?"

Stunned she could only give in - for the time being at any rate. "OK," she said. "All right. I'll follow. But, please ... don't forget you've chained my feet."

Beth Morrow strained through salt-sore eyes to make sense of the dark patch on the horizon. The storm had moved on to leave a heavy swell and, as the life-raft rose and fell, she obtained a distant view only about once every three waves. But with the clear blue vault of the heavens above her that could not be a cloud, surely? If not a cloud - then it must be land! A mountain top... or an island? If it was an island then she had a good chance of missing it altogether as her little craft was driven before the wind.

She started to free the paddle but stopped as it occurred to her that to paddle in that sea and wind was foolish; tilting at windmills. And then her natural resourcefulness, that essential quality of a good seafarer, kicked in as her eye fell on her discarded oilskin jacket. She set-to once more to unlash the paddle.

With her back turned toward her misty goal she jammed the paddle into one sleeve of the jacket, wedged it upright between her thigh and that silly little thwart and held it in place with her right hand. With the left she pulled at the remaining sleeve to spread her makeshift sail. It was pitifully small and ridiculously close to the water but, nevertheless, its pressure made the dinghy spin round and she could see the water-surface moving behind them as they dragged forward.. Now once again facing that smudge on the far horizon she grinned in delight to see that she was heading toward it... well... apparently.

With her head barely above a water level that was anything but level she had little idea of distance but any progress was better than just drifting. She experimented with the sail and found that, to a small degree, she could steer and so there was hope of making the landfall. She had eaten the last of the meager rations two days ago and there remained but a half-bottle of water. Unless she made it to that land, and hopefully it was indeed land, this was likely to mark the end to her freewheeling single-handed voyage. It was a miracle that she had survived the storm that had overwhelmed her beloved sailor; she gambled on just one more miracle.

Tiffany sat in the water at the edge of the beach and revelled in her weekly bath. The heavy sea running outside the cove sent only small waves through the narrow inlet and, as these ran ceaselessly up the shelving beach, so the water alternately covered just her thighs and then rose almost to her shoulders. Normally the wave-tops would have floated her off the bottom but the weight of the gold bejewelled shackles they had locked about her person kept her well anchored.

She enjoyed the manner in which the salt water relieved her limbs of some of the weight although, over the last three or more months, the constant load had built up her muscles and she no longer laboured under her personal "treasure". Since her capture on arrival at the island she had never been allowed out of them. Dirk had led her up the beach and into a clear path through the dense tangle of palms and grasses toward the high ground which had been visible from the Molly Anne. Then he had stopped, put a finger and thumb between his lips and emitted a shrill whistle.

If Tiffany was surprised by the unexpected sight of a woman running to meet them she was more than startled by the outlandish garb she was sporting. She seemed to have stepped out of the pages of a pirate book or perhaps was an important lady in some eastern potentate's piratical empire. Her ankle-length garments of brightly-coloured silks swished and whispered as she moved. Her elaborate head-dress was adorned with flashing jewels and dependent from it was a veil that floated behind her reaching the ground when she stood still. The front part of it was wrapped around her head to conceal the lower face leaving only a pair of eyes which looked on Tiffany with something other than just curiosity? About her waist she wore a heavy multi-stranded gold-chain girdle from which hung a small curved dagger in a jewel-encrusted gold filigree scabbard.

Dirk had flung his arms wide: "I thought only Tuaregs wore blue veils? What a way to greet a returning traveller. I hope you'll do this one again?"

In a most non-eastern fashion she'd dropped him a curtsey: "You were a long time? And is this my birthday present?"

That was the cruel way in which Tiffany had learned of her intended fate. In a supercilious manner the girl had walked all around Tiffany. "Tiffany," said Dirk, "meet Jesse. You are her slave. Jesse, this is - or was - Tiffany. No doubt you have her new name lined up?"

Jesse had continued her inspection walking round and round the helpless Tiffany until, irritated beyond reason, she had fought the shackles and sought to wreak a well-deserved vengeance. Jesse had merely stepped back out of reach and, unused to the hobble chain, Tiffany tripped. From somewhere in that voluminous garment Jesse had produced a small whip with which she cut a painful welt across Tiffany's exposed rump.

"Yahowwee," she had screamed. "That hurt, you bitch."

"What did you call me? You will have to learn... " and she cut her once more, "... that a slave does not talk except with permission, never answers back.. " Again the whip hissed and cracked, "... and never... ever... uses abusive language to her master or mistress."

It had taken Tiffany several seconds to recover her breath the while she struggled to regain her feet: "I'm not your slave. And when I get out of these... "

Jesse had moved in and, using her foot to push Tiffany back to the ground, she struck her heavily across the calves with the handle of her whip. "You will NOT get out of those. And if you can't remain silent you'll spend the next week wearing a gag!"

Tiffany had looked to Dirk for help but was shocked to see that he was grinning in delight. She had never felt so betrayed. Then the girl had dropped her veil and Tiffany's morning climaxed. "Hallo, Tiffany darling. I'll bet you're surprised to see me? But Dirk here is one boyfriend of mine - in fact, he's my husband - I don't think you will manage to steal. And here, on our island, you won't be able to make fun of me. Now I'm the sadistic leader of the Band."

The sense of betrayal was to increase with the passing of Time. She was never left alone except fully shackled. When she was put to work her wrists were released from the waist belt and only confined by the twelve-inch handcuffs that had been added permanently to her load. Before her hands were thus freed Jesse always delighted in adding to her waist-belt a gold band that ran between her legs - a sort of golden chastity belt that owed nothing whatever to the comfort of any unfortunate victim.

Her sense of humiliation was further increased by the little gold filigree bras from each cup of which hung two small bells; additionally she often wore a huge headdress surmounted by a brightly-coloured plume. As Jesse had smugly expressed it: "They will ensure that you don't get lost!"

Jesse had always been a loser, constantly dumped by a string of boyfriends who inevitably migrated to Tiffany's circle. Her misfortunes she always attributed to malice on Tiffany's part rather than to any fault of her own attitude. Tiffany had ignored her as a spiteful bitch but was shattered to realise the sadistic streak that had sent Dirk to kidnap her. Perhaps she was partly to blame herself; she'd allowed a handful of precious stones and a fabulous yacht to blind her to Dirk's true nature - in fact she had genuinely liked him and readily agreed to accompany him on a treasure hunt and had acquiesced in the need to keep their departure a secret.

Tiffany's soliloquy was abruptly terminated by the sound of someone crashing through the water behind her. Over her shoulder she saw Dirk approaching. In his hand he carried something she quickly identified as one of the stockings she had left on board the Molly Anne; it was knotted in the middle around something that had been stuffed into it. Without preamble he crammed the knot into her mouth and tied-off the gag behind her head. As he wrapped his arms around her and dragged her to her feet she thought she saw something cresting one of the waves outside the cove but it vanished even as she saw it. However, Dirk's frantic and rough action confirmed that a boat of some sort was approaching.

With her hands anchored to her waist belt, hobbled, gagged and collared, Tiffany could only stagger after him as he dragged her up the beach, through the belt of trees and into the house. With that great treasure at their disposal they were able to maintain the appearance of millionaire eccentrics who had built a surprisingly modest house on their island paradise. Had the island and house come first or the treasure? She didn't know. He dragged her through to their bedroom, slid aside the wardrobe on its rubber-tyred wheels and so into Tiffany's cell where he chained her to the wall-ring. She heard the door close and knew that he would have re-positioned the wardrobe so that any cry she may have made would be inaudible even without the gag.

She lay there helpless in the dark for a long time. When at last she heard sounds of the door being opened Jesse and Dirk dragged in another girl gagged with Tiffany's remaining stocking and fettered exactly as Tiffany - altogether they had five sets of those, she knew. "Now slave," said Jesse smugly: "you are being promoted to Chief Slave because we now have an assistant for you. It will be up to you to teach assistant Slave the proper manners for a slave and your joint duties. I hope you are a good teacher and you... " She took the new girl by the chin; "... you had better be a good learner because, if either of you make a mistake, you will both be whipped. Chief Slave can give you a detailed account of how my whip bites."

Dirk produced a short length of the gold chain, about three feet long, and he locked this between their collars: "All for one and one for all," he chortled. He freed Tiffany's hands from the belt and removed her gag: "Now get into the kitchen and get some food ready. You can take off her gag when you have made her understand the virtues of silence. If she makes a noise you'll both be beaten. When she can behave herself we'll think about releasing her hands too." He unlocked Tiffany from the wall and led them out.

In the kitchen, Tiffany kept up a clatter with the pots and pans while she briefly explained the situation to her new companion who, of necessity, followed her around silently, got in the way and was unable to offer assistance. Jesse appeared and asked suspiciously: "Why are you so noisy tonight?"

"Sorry. But it's difficult to be careful when I'm dragging a useless body around."

"Hmmp. Learn to be careful."

That night, locked together behind the cell door, they exchanged information in whispers. Tiffany learned that her companion was Beth Morrow who had been pleasure cruising in her yacht The Girl's Beth Friend until the storm had dismasted her. Huge waves had then used the mast wreckage as a battering ram to punch a hole in the little ship's side. It was an age-old tale of storm disaster; Beth had barely three minutes in which to launch her life raft which, prudently, she had always maintained in a state of instant readiness.

Tiffany's heart leaped at this news: "Could you handle the Molly Anne out there?"

"Oh. She's a real honey."

"You're the miracle I've been longing for. I've had... what date is it?"

"Lost count but it's the last week in September."

"Middle of May they took me. More than four months I've lain here trying to scheme a way to turn the tables... "

"Christ. Have you been chained up like this for four months?"

"Every damn second. The problem has always been I was outnumbered, helpless in these fetters and, even if I could get free, my knowledge of sailing is only rudimentary and I can't navigate. But, if you're willing to have a go, things are a bit different now."

"Christ, Tiffany. I'm game for anything rather than put up with this. What's the plan?"

"A pretty good idea now how we can work it. We'll talk it over tomorrow out in the woods ... we're almost certain to be sent out to gather firewood for the stove. Best not say too much anyway where we might be overheard."

Gathering wood next day they worked out their plan. "We must take them one at a time," said Tiffany, "and it will have to be Jesse first. Any time now Dirk will take the Sally Anne out to buy supplies and he'll be gone about ten days. Can bet Jesse will be careful while she's alone but I've been doing my best to convince them that the whip broke me. I'm a good and obedient little girl. Surprise will do it but we'll have to work fast. So... we practice."

Tiffany had not wasted her four months; sure enough, three days later Dirk left with the Molly Anne but they waited one more day just in case he had to put back. They had come back with the first load of wood and were on their way out for a second when the opportunity offered. As Tiffany had predicted, Jesse was not taking any chances; Beth's hands remained chained to her waist-belt and Tiffany had only her right hand freed from her belt. It made their task more laborious but that was not a concern for Jesse.

As they were leaving the house they met Jesse returning from the beach. Dutifully they stood aside to let her pass and that she did with lofty disdain. But that was her undoing. As she drew level with them Tiffany, who was used to the hobbles, darted in front of her, round to the far side and so behind her. Beth moved behind and Tiffany ducked under the joining chain where it left Beth's neck. Even as the startled Jesse turned to meet the threat so her neck was caught painfully in a chain noose.

The two prisoners were not in a mood to be merciful but laid their weight and leg-power into the task of strangling their captor. It was instinctive to raise her hands to the chain across her throat in an effort to force relief but she might have had more success had she gone for her little dagger. Her mouth opened to emit a horrid rasping noise, her eyes began to roll upward and, as the oxygen-supply to her brain failed, her legs buckled.

At Tiffany's call, they backed off and she ducked back under Beth's end of the chain. Jesse sprawled, barely conscious, on the ground and they rolled her on to her face. Jesse's legs were folded up behind and Tiffany, straddling her, sat on her ankles. Beth leaned down to gather Jesse's right hand and pass it to Tiffany who locked it into the empty wrist-cuff that dangled from her own belt. Then she crossed over to capture Jesse's left hand and pass that to Tiffany. While Tiffany held her in a hog-tie position, Beth pulled at the golden girdle which carried the dagger and the keys to their fetters. She used the key to free Tiffany's other hand and the cuff was transferred to Jesse's remaining hand. Then Tiffany freed Beth's hands. Next Beth took the hobble from her own ankles and gleefully transferred it to Jesse after which she freed Tiffany and together they locked Tiffany's waist belt on Jesse. Then they put one of the collars on the latest prisoner of the island.

By this time Jesse was staging a recovery and offering all kinds of threats to take effect on Dirk's return. Undaunted they used the other hobble to secure her to a tree and then went for a glorious romp on the beach. Truly had they turned the tables.

After an hour, they felt hungry and returned to the house. It delighted both to walk past the struggling Jesse as though she did not exist and they turned deaf ears to her blood-curdling threats. They failed to find their own clothes and so raided Jesse's outrageous wardrobe in an hour-long marathon of dressing-up and hilarity. Then to the kitchen to assuage a hunger made all the more keen by their success.

When finally they returned outside Jesse had given up the useless fight with the manacles but not her voice. Tiffany returned to the house to collect one of the gags that had been used on themselves and silenced her. They took her to the loo, fed and watered her and then locked her in the cell chained to the wall. Before they left her Tiffany laid the gag beside her: "Better use some of the night thinking about the virtues of silence... as you so poetically put it. Unless you want to be wearing that permanently."

For several days they had a great time sorting through the treasure for bits that would be easy to sell and getting everything ready for their exit from this island paradise they wished to see no more. Needless to say it was a few days that Jesse did not enjoy at all and the ever present threat of that whip hanging from the wall in front of her kept her quiet at least when they were around.

The glorious spree ended all too soon as Beth rushed in to announce that the Molly Anne had entered the cove. Dirk was even then anchoring; she had delayed to watch his entrance so that she would know the way out. Jesse received a quick inspection and a tight gag and then Beth ran to get dressed. Dirk had decided to leave the labour of landing the stores to the slaves and so came whistling into the house. He did wonder why Jesse had not come to welcome him but she was probably supervising the "servants".

As Dirk entered, he was stopped by the sight of Jesse, clad in her exotic eastern garb, face concealed by the swirling veil; she was looking to his right and, as she pointed, she took a backward step. Prepared to deal summarily with whatever the slaves were doing he stepped quickly into the room. From behind the door Tiffany swung the paddle that had been part of Beth's lifeboat gear.

Behind that paddle was four months of indignation, four months of resentment, four months spent helplessly confined in chains, four months of humilation and smarting strokes of the whip. Above all was the rage at his deception in first making love to her before he had betrayed her into this captivity. He went down like a pole-axed steer. Beth ran to drag out the set of manacles waiting in readiness and together they secured their one-time tormentor and collared him.

Tiffany picked up the paddle and handed it to Beth: "Gold is not a strong metal," she said. "He just might break out of those things before we're ready. He's got some steel handcuffs aboard the Molly Anne; I know - he used them on me during the voyage out here." She ran down to the beach, splashed through the water and swam gleefully out to the little ship. It took only a few minutes to find the cuffs exactly where she had last seen them - she left the keys where they were.

Back at the house they dragged the still unconscious Dirk to join Jesse in the cell. She cuffed his right hand to Jesse's left and his right ankle to Jesse's right ankle. Beth amused herself by replacing the chain that had linked the collars. Tiffany removed Jesse's gag: "I expect you'll want to comfort him while you sort out that little lot. We'll land the bulk of the stores for you... oh, and by the way... we're taking ALL the keys with us. I doubt we'll be coming back but possibly the people from whom you buy those stores might wonder what has happened to you? If you want a word of advice, try not to let them know about the rest of the treasure."

"So long... dearie. And don't get too close to that precious husband. I can tell you from personal experience that he's likely to let you down."