I Chain an Ambivalent Girl

originally posted April 10, 2006

"Greetings Emily," I said as I poked my head into the tent she and Nirah share.
Emily, the Gold-Piece girl of the chain, tends to find her mat earlier in the evening than her chain sisters. It was unfortunate to have woken her, but it could not be helped.
"Mind yourself on the right," I said.
The right. Yes. That bit. A few moments prior, with links sufficient to restrain the first girl of the whore coffle, Tasta the Sleen, I chained the Tuchuk-pierced Nirah. As I excused myself, my cordial greeting to Emily at the open tent flap was replaced with her tent mate who felt compelled to fling herself into the tent, landing in an ass over elbows sprawl on the Dancer's right. Her compulsion may have had something to do with the heavy chain depended from her throat, pulled taut as I jerked her through the opening of the tent. In fact, I am fairly certain it was responsible for at least ninety-nine percent of said compulsion. Nirah is a graceful girl. She is almost never prone to flinging herself through tent openings in such a manner. She is, in fact, a model of humble near-perfection; something other girls on the chain look upon with responses ranging from open admiration to the occasional, albeit briefly felt, utter disdain. She is a beautiful girl. Now and again, not often, she needs a reminder that she is owned. A few nights ago, she spent a fitful evening in her tent, unable to lift her cheek from the dirt without difficulty, weighted down by a sleen chain. I expect her attitude will show marked improvement the next time I speak with her.
I will not own ambivalent women.