To read an F. E. Campbell novel is to enter another world: a world filled with lust, pain, intrigue, agony and ecstasy. The author gives his tales of maiden woe a decidedly English twist. It is here that the eternal damsel in distress finds herself presented in sympathetic fashion to a cruel modern world, where she must deal with the physical and psychological aspects of loving restraint.
HOM is proud to present the latest volume in this distinguished series of books. We are confident that Campbell’s Hit series will excite you as no other paperbacks have. Each novel will leave you wishing it would never end. The action is nonstop, the plots are intricate and exciting, and the characters are unique and colorful.
The cover illustration, by the late Robert Bishop, has been selected from the HOM archives.
Golden Wrists
by F. E. Campbell
1
Mistress On a Chair
The manner of my coming is guesswork, I suspect I was drugged and wafted across the Atlantic as cargo. I may never see New York again.
In the first two days of my imprisonment, I lost the two companions who’s fate had been similar to mine. I mourned their passing and yearned for Ivory Blake with a terrible hunger of the heart. Ivory had become the core and center of my life but now was gone. I returned to the island of Plessious, along with the sweet but omnipotent Naomi Samis. They are gone, gone, gone. And I am here alone in the stone prison with its central column to which my neck is chained.
An iron collar is locked upon my throat. From it the chain to the stone column allows me to pace back and forth, a good deal of freedom but not enough to do me any good. I constantly plead for its removal but am only laughed at by those who attend my needs. Sometimes when no one sees. I shed my tears in the bitterness of defeat.
I was cruelly whipped on arrival, my introduction to the ancient house named Rockley. I was then sentenced to the condition in which I now am, for seven days, only four of which have gone. At the end of it I am to be whipped again. How wonderful is the omnipotence of this man I know as Andrew Everleigh.
He visits me each day and I have no choice but to stand naked beneath his venerable regard as we discuss the affairs of The Estate, and the disposition of my body. Andrew Everleigh may be old but he is very shrewd.
“That young upstart, Hugo Markham, will be missing you,” the man who holds me prisoner remarked. “He’d best give up his claim and with you gone, I expect he will.”
His regard of my nakedness, which never had been carnal, made me think he was faintly aware of me as a human being. “You’ve only three days to go before being whipped again. How do you feel about it?”
“It’s medieval, I can’t believe it will happen.”
“It will happen. Do you think the first one did you any good?” That’s a question I’ve asked myself again and again in my loneliness. Being whipped so terribly made me humble in a way to cause me shame. It is, of course, nothing more than a demonstration of how a man’s will and a man’s strength can rob a girl of pride and self-esteem. I had not previously concerned myself with breasts and pubes, but I’m now frighteningly aware of these female sexual attributes. I do not want to be hurt again, the pain is beyond bearing. I hear my voice and am mortified a thousand-fold. “I don’t want to be whipped again. Please, is there not something I can do or say? I am now obedient.”
Andrew Everleigh nodded absently as if my pleading might be taken for granted. “As you have been, Diane, you are too big for the role you have to play. Whipping will diminish you and make you submissive to my needs. Can you understand?”
“I will be obedient to you now. Please don’t have me whipped again.”
He goes away and I sink down upon the stone to lean whipped skin back against the pillar which holds my neck by a chain.