Let's see, it's been, what--a year?--since I started writing this story. Sheesh. Well, I hope I've cleared my schedule enough that I should be able to move along a little faster from now on. We'll see...

Since it's been so long between chapters, a quick recap:

The "Jungle Queen" of our story is Ayesha, legendary goddess, reputed to be immortal and the most beautiful woman alive. The U.S. State Department seems to have acquired "proof" that she is no legend, and they fear that she and her army of female warriors mean to cause unrest in Africa. They have sent Madlyn Anderson, a low-level NSA employee to deliver intelligence about Ayesha to archaeologist-adventuress Tara Fields, in hopes of enlisting her aid in finding Ayesha. Intrigued, Tara agrees to accompany the girl to Africa. Their plane is commandeered by thugs who abduct Madlyn, and leave Tara to crash in the plane.

The thugs are in the employ of dissolute big game hunter, Lord John Roper, who (along with his slightly mad wife) wants to capture Ayesha as the crowning trophy of his career.

We have also met the white slaver Janos, and his kinky girlfriend Mandy, as they abducted three beautiful women from a pleasure cruise.

When the cruise ship is scuttled, security officer Dawn Chan and another young woman, Allyson Willow, escape in a raft, where they are rescued by an old-fashioned masted sailing ship belonging to the followers of Ayesha. Though they are initially welcomed as "sisters" in peril, it appears that there is one faction, led by a woman named Heron, that is unhappy with Ayesha's leadership, and which does not trust Dawn and Allyson, treating them more like prisoners than guests.

As this chapter opens, following Tara's ordeal in the plane, she is meeting with representatives of the American State Department, and Interpol.

"So you're not going to bloody do anything?"

The quiet of the dark airport bar was momentarily broken by the sound of Tara Fields' glass slamming down on the formica tabletop; the man sitting across from her blinked as ice water spattered his glasses.

"Doctor Fields, I didn't say that. I simply said that I am not at liberty to share information as to just what, if indeed any, interest my government has in this unfortunate incident."

"This incident involved a hopelessly naïve young woman, thrust into a situation for which she was totally unprepared, who has now been kidnapped, probably by the same people who have stolen secret information belonging to your government. Never mind 'sharing information', how about taking some damned action?"

The man removed his glasses, dabbing at the water spots with a napkin. "Doctor Fields, I'm sorry that I can't be more help. Frankly, I believe that you're becoming rather emotional over this-surprising, really, in a professional adventuress like yourself."

Tara's vision turned red, and only a hand laid gently on her arm prevented the American diplomat from having his eyeglasses dashed to the floor.

"Now, now, mon ami," a low voice purred. "This man is only a functionary. He has not the authority to help you... and is probably not equipped to be of much use in any area." A throaty chuckle followed, and the American reddened, and rose from the table. "Good day, ladies," he sneered, and stalked off.

Tara Fields sighed, and looked at the owner of the hand that had restrained her. Jeanette St. Claire was an Interpol agent Tara had worked with in the past, and as efficient and deadly as she was beautiful. Jeanette tossed glossy black hair off her face, and smiled.

"American intelligence-their machines usually have more of it than their people do."

Tara laughed grimly. "I wouldn't have thought it would take much intelligence to see that they need to do something!"

"Oh, they will," her companion smiled. "They just won't tell you about it. No matter, though. As you know, I have my own sources. If there has been any message traffic about an 'army of Amazons', they will know about it."

Tara's face was set. "This is more than archaeology for me, now, you know. That young woman trusted me."

"I know, my friend. But those who took her must seek Ayesha, as well. We must expect that they will succeed in finding her... and we must do the same, and meet them there!"

The Interpol agent smiled brightly, as though the whole problem had been solved. Tara nodded, and finished her drink. What Jeanette seems to be forgetting, she thought, is just what Madlyn Anderson may have to go through before her captors can find Ayesha.

The small storeroom was hot and dusty. The blonde in the tattered clothing tried to shift herself to a more comfortable position, but with her wrists and ankles fastened to each other, that was proving impossible, stashed as she was behind a rack of metal shelving. Every nerve in her body seemed to be crying out for relief; every muscle felt as though it had been contorted into a shape she could never have imagined. The taste in her mouth was beyond description: stiff, filthy cloth, with dust and saliva layered atop it. Her body seemed almost encrusted in sweat. Perhaps it was due to her brain trying to sort out all these impulses mingled with the heart-stopping fear, that she found herself scrambling desperately to remember who she was.

She could remember how she came to this place: the nightmare plunge from the plane through the clear African skies, the savage cruelty of the men who had then stuffed her under the back seat of a Land Rover, the frightening velvet darkness of the hot night air as she was pulled from the vehicle hours later, and, finally, the terrifying, lonely closet that was now her prison. Nothing before that, though. Her history... her family... her name? Nothing; there was nothing there. As the door to her dark prison opened, it occurred to her that there was, of course, one source of information: probably, the men who took her knew far more of her life than she did, herself.

Light flooded in. After a moment, the metal shelving was pushed aside, and the two men who had taken her from the plane regarded her: near-naked, bound and gagged on the floor.

"Hello, senorita," the first man said jovially. "You sleep good here?" The men chuckled as though this were actually funny, as they pulled her up from the floor, and unbound her ankles. Her legs fell free, numb, and they dragged her up by the arms and shoulders. "Oh, but I think you maybe need a shower before we have some fun together," the man leered. "Here, I help you." With that, Madlyn Anderson felt the last shreds of whoever she had been stripped from her as the remains of her clothing fell to the floor; a few tattered rags still hung about her bound wrists. The two men then walked her down a hallway, hands groping and fondling her. From somewhere in the back of her mind, Madlyn knew she ought to be resisting, but her exhausted body couldn't even try.

They entered a comfortably-furnished living room, with broad windows opening on a panoramic view of the African plains. That they were prepared to bring their naked captive into the room suggested that there was no need for concern that they might be interrupted.

At the far side of the room, a man in a faded khaki bush jacket sat in a rattan chair, watching impassively as Madlyn was dragged into the room by her captors. A lock of salt-and-pepper hair fell across his forehead as he raised his head to regard the prisoner.

"This is the American woman?" his voice was clipped and moist; it might once have been powerful, but showed the rasp of decades of hard drinking. "Have you asked her any questions, yet?"

"Oh, no. Senor Roper." The man took Madlyn's chin in his hand. "See, she doesn't talk much this way," he giggled. Roper sighed, as though overly familiar with the man's idea of humor. He nodded. "Very well." He turned watery brown eyes on Madlyn. "My dear, I have some questions I need answered." He gestured toward a hanging plant in the center of the room, and spoke to Madlyn's captors. "Put her there." The hulking blond man known as Tesh removed the potted plant; the Hispanic man then took Madlyn's bound wrists, pulled them up behind her, and fastened them to the hook in the wall.

Madlyn thought her body had long since gone numb, but hanging from the ceiling awoke new agonies in her. She desperately tried to find a position of relief, but anything that eased the pain in her arms and shoulders just placed more strain on her legs, as she balanced painfully. She uttered her first sound since being taken from the closet, a groan, muffled by the filthy cloth in her mouth. Lord John Roper approached her, but made no move to unbind her mouth. Instead, he gestured for someone behind him to come forward.

"Allow me to introduce the lady wife," Roper drawled. Lady Jessica Roper, tall and statuesque, with blond hair spilling over one shoulder and down her breast, came up to stand beside her husband. Even in her miserable state, Madlyn detected a glimpse of something unbalanced in the woman's eyes. She didn't speak, but gave no sign of being at all disturbed to have a naked woman hanging in her living room. Roper's voice pulled her gaze back to him. "I need more information about these documents pertaining to Ayesha." In front of Madlyn's face, he held up what appeared to be some sort of government document, and a photograph of a stunning, long-haired blonde, dressed in some sort of sarong, made of animal skin. "Your government has obviously done some surveillance of her, and you were carrying this information. I need to know how to find her, and you are going to help me."

If the despair in the blonde's eyes showed, Roper gave no sign. I don't even remember who I am, Madlyn raged to herself, how can I possibly tell him anything about the woman in that picture?

Roper picked up the documents he had been looking at. "Some of the information here is encrypted. You will fill in the pieces for me." The gagged woman moaned; her captor seemed not to notice. "Now, I have some experience in dealing with agents of the United States Government, so I have no illusions that you will willingly tell me what I wish to know. Therefore, I will ask my good wife to lend her expertise in this matter; she will ensure that you are not tempted to lie to us."

It made no sense, but, then, none of it did. As the woman with the mad look in her eyes approached, Madlyn could see that she carried an ugly black leather whip. She examined Madlyn for a moment, as though appraising her nonexistent outfit, then nodded to Tesh, who responded by gleefully pulling Madlyn's hair to one side, and forcing her to raise her head as far as possible; even with his efforts, Madlyn found it painful to hold her head higher than waist height. Lady Roper waited patiently for the ham-handed brute to finish pawing Madlyn. She then, for the first time, looked her captive straight in the eyes.

"As my husband has told you, I have some expertise in the arts of persuasion." She paused. Madlyn would have sworn that her arm did no more than twitch, but without her having seen anything, Madlyn felt an agonizing slash across her belly, and looked down to see a tiny welt forming. Her eyes bulging, Madlyn gasped into her gag, almost too startled to try to scream. In a moment, though, the pain hit her, and scream she did, a slobbering shriek into her packed mouth.

"I expect you are wondering," the woman went on as though nothing had happened, "how, with that gag in your mouth, you will let us know when you are ready to talk." Through the pain, Madlyn had to admit to herself that she had, in fact, wondered that very thing. "You would, no doubt, prefer that I remove your gag."

Yes, yes! Madlyn wanted to scream at her, Then I can tell you that I don't know anything!

"But, you see," Lady Roper continued, "It has been my experience that people under torture will waste the interrogator's time with all manner of pleas and promises, begging and whining. We stop, we start, we stop-no, it's no good. I find it much more effective to deliver 'persuasion' for a prescribed period of time. At the end of that period, the 'subject' is un-gagged, and given the opportunity to provide the requested information. Should they choose not to do so, the gag is re-applied, and a longer period of persuasion is used. At the end of that period, another opportunity for co-operation is provided; should that be refused, again we resume, again the time increases." She gazed blandly into Madlyn's horror-stricken eyes. "I greatly doubt we should need more than two such cycles for you; in fact, I can assure you that you would not survive three." And with no further formalities, Lady Jessica Roper drew back her arm, the air was filled with a hissing sound, and Madlyn's vision ran red.

There was, of course, no hope. With every blow that savaged her pampered skin, she knew that it was all over. She could tell this madwoman and her husband nothing; they would not believe her; she would die under torture. What point clinging to hope-or pride, or dignity, or identity? She opened her throat, and let animal shrieks shake the filthy cloth in her mouth. She flailed her head back and forth, with never any expectation of loosening the gag. She would try to sag in her bonds, and show her back to the whip, but every time she tried, the pain from her arms and shoulders was too great- incredibly, it bit through the agony of the whip, and forced her to stand upright again, where the blows continued to slash at her breasts. Whimpering, sobbing, gasping through the gag for breath she needed to desperately, Madlyn scarcely noticed the woman coiling the whip, and tucking it into her belt. Again, she nodded to Tesh, who grinned sadistically as he yanked the cloth brutally from between Madlyn's teeth, and left it hanging about her throat.

"Aaaagghhhh! Aaaaagghhhhh!! Pleasepleasepleaseplease-" Madlyn's mad gibbering was interrupted by the feel of a cup against her parched lips, and she sucked down water like a desert animal.

"That was one minute."

"No." Madlyn's voice was a hoarse, choking whisper. "No." It couldn't have been. Hours, days maybe!

"Where is the woman Ayesha? How do I read these documents?" Lord John Roper's mottled red face had now thrust itself before Madlyn's eyes.

"I don't know," moaned the American girl. "I don't even know who I am!"

If there had been a signal to Tesh, Madlyn had missed it, but she felt the disgusting rags being jammed back into her mouth, and the knot behind her head was fastened again.

"This will be two minutes." The woman's voice was entirely matter-of-fact. "This is the preferred method: double the amount each time."

Double. That wasn't possible. There could not be that much time in the universe, for her to endure twice as much. Or did the fact that she had survived so far mean that it would be easier-

No. As her world exploded in a red haze of pain, Madlyn understood the insanity of the idea. One did not "get used to it", one did not "survive" it. The best one could do was surrender to it. Pain was all that was left in the world, and as the blows continued, clarity returned to Madlyn's mind. She knew, now, who she was, she knew--- she was Madlyn Anderson, a thing to be abused. A lump of flesh and bone that would be flogged and flayed until time had no meaning any more. Death would never come to claim her-only Pain. She belonged to Pain. He was her lover now, her father and mother, and she embraced him, ripping her throat raw as she greeted him. As he took her, her eyes rolled up into her head, and she dove for the welcoming blackness.

She never made it. There was a rustling in the room, movement, voices. She could no longer hear the whip lashing her; the lack of sound was the only way she could tell that the flogging had stopped.

"I cracked it, Daddy. Told you I would."

Lady Jessica Roper had turned from her captive to see a young woman, about Madlyn's age, with a mane of blond hair cascading across full breasts; she was dressed in riding pants and a khaki shirt.

"Pen." A father's fondness was in John Roper's voice. "You don't mean it."

"'Course I do." Penelope Roper shrugged. "I told you, the Americans have no respect for any other intelligence services-or, anyone's intelligence. 'Lo, Mother."

Lady Jessica Roper beamed at her daughter, looking only slightly saner than she had seemed before. "Pen, dear." She extended her arms to her daughter, who ignored her, and fixed pale blue eyes on Madlyn's captive form.

"Mother, your methods really are so old-fashioned." She scrutinized the ravaged flesh; as Madlyn looked down, she was astonished to see, through her tears, just how little actual blood there was, though angry-looking bruises and welts abounded. The woman had flogged her with a precision bordering on the surgical. "It'll take days for this one to be fully presentable." Before her mother could respond, Penelope turned back to her father. "Daddy, I'm off again, tomorrow. Everything you need is right there."

"Pen, dear," the boozy voice grew maudlin. "Are you sure you won't stay and help your mum and me? With your education and training, you'd be a formidable addition to the team."

Penelope Roper cast a withering look in her mother's direction, which Lady Jessica missed. "Thanks, daddy, but... well, I think I work better alone." Roper watched sadly as his daughter left the room.

"Never mind, John," came his wife's voice, as she laid a hand on his shoulder. "We have what we need, now." Roper nodded absently, as he perused the documents.

"We'll need help, but I think I see a tremendous opportunity here."

"Opportunity?"

"In attempting to take Ayesha, we would face formidable opposition from her army of female warriors. And who do we know that can make profitable use of a large group of beautiful women?"

Jessica Roper's face brightened. "Janos! Can we interest him in this?"

Her husband jerked a thumb in Madlyn's direction. "Well, we can certainly give him an impressive down payment. Young American blondes fetch the very highest prices, you know."

"Well, then..." Jessica Roper bustled over to where Madlyn hung; in a few moments, the captive crashed heavily to the floor as her numbed arms were unhooked from the ceiling. "We'd better get her cleaned up." Madlyn felt Lady Jessica haul her to her feet. As she stumbled in her captress' wake, Madlyn realized that she could now remember exactly two words of her NSA briefing: "White Slavery."

For the better part of a week, Madlyn remained a prisoner in Roper's compound, recovering from her ordeal. She had spent most of the time in an odd mental state: too clear-headed to be "dazed", but also quite clearly no longer "herself."

By the time she found herself once more bound, gagged, and stuffed into a Land Rover, ideas like "escape" or "freedom" seemed as foreign as though they had been in another language. After hours of hot, sweaty travel, she finally found herself removed from the vehicle, leashed, and hauled up the stairs and into the dark interior of a large ship. Roper never addressed her, just directed Tesh to bring her as they made their way to the back of the ship, and came to a stop before a wooden door.

From behind the door of the cabin, Roper could hear what sounded to him like a factory churning out some kind of heavy goods; grudgingly, he supposed it was someone's idea of music. There appeared to be a male voice grunting doggerel, but high over that sound, clearly present in the room, came a light, clear voice drawling in rhythm to the appalling noise. As Roper opened the door, he was struck with the noise full-force.

"Doooaaannn gimme no laaaahhnns, an' keeeeep yo' hayands to yo'sefff!" The cabin space was largely taken up with a desk; atop the polished wood, a young blonde, in spandex leotard and eccentric eye makeup was wailing to the music at the top of her lungs, caressing the mustache of the man at the desk, who was leaning back in his chair, with his eyes closed.

"Ah..." Roper hesitated.

The blonde looked up and giggled. "Georgia Satellites. My favorites." She hopped down from the desk, and gave a glance to the bound and gagged figure of Madlyn Anderson, who trembled, leashed, at Roper's side. "Hi, my name's Mandy. I'm sure we'll be seeing a lot more of each other." The girl tugged experimentally at the harness which cris-crossed Madlyn's face, holding a huge pad of leather in her mouth. "Still in training, huh? Well, we'll take good care of you!" She blew a kiss in the direction of the man at the desk, and skipped out.

For a moment, the man at the desk didn't move. He then darted a hand to a control panel on his desk, and the pounding noise was replaced with the quiet sounds of a piano; Roper had the vague idea it might be Mozart.

After a moment, the man at the desk inhaled deeply, sighed, and sat up, regarding his visitor for the first time.

"Lord John. So good to see you again."

"Janos," Roper inclined his head.

"I have read the business proposal you forwarded."

"And?"

"I find your proposition quite interesting, my friend. There are one or two points, though... you say, here, that there is an army of these women?"

"Well, a rather primitive one. These women disdain the use of all machinery, including firearms. Surely, your men will be too well-armed for that to present a problem."

"Not the point. The women are of no value to me after they have been cut to pieces by automatic weapons."

"Perhaps they'd surrender, rather than face your weapons."

"The problem then becomes one of economics." Janos spread his hands, in a manner almost professorial. "You say there are many dozens, perhaps a hundred? In a market as selective as those I deal in, that would represent a flood that would depress prices drastically."

Roper looked puzzled. "You don't sound like someone who intends to help me."

"Please, Lord John, don't jump to conclusions. I merely point out some of the difficulties involved. No, a frontal assault on Ayesha and her women is not the answer. What we need is to trap Ayesha herself, and perhaps a dozen or so of her followers, and we need to get them away quietly."

"Well, as I told you, I have information which will allow us locate them. What do you propose to do then?"

Janos smiled. "Ayesha's society would be unique in world history if it did not have some disaffected elements, prepared to overthrow her leadership." He leaned forward, as though sharing his thoughts with a bright student. "We simply identify these elements, and, with their assistance, we satisfy your requirements, and my own."

"Very well," Roper nodded. "As promised, then-your down payment." He stood up, and pulled Madlyn from her kneeling position.

Janos came over to shake Roper's hand. "We are agreed, then." The slaver regarded Madlyn: the gagged woman was certainly frightened, but there was something else in her eyes; something Roper and the appalling Tesh would have overlooked, but which spoke quite clearly to Janos.

"My consultants will be here tomorrow with the information." Roper interrupted Janos' survey of the captive blonde.

"Excellent." There was something vague in Janos' voice, and it became clear to Madlyn that his focus had shifted from Roper to his new "acquisition". Janos nodded to Roper, and Madlyn was suddenly aware that the door had closed behind Roper and Tesh, and she was alone with her new owner.

For several minutes, the only sound in the room was Madlyn's impaired breathing, and Janos' quiet steps as he circled the bound woman. Madlyn braced herself-by now, she knew just how vulnerable she was-to this man, she was simply "merchandise" to be inspected. Instead of simply fondling, her, though, she felt Janos' hand lightly graze her buttocks. For a moment, she felt his fingers stroking her; then, his palm had cupped her ass, and he pulled her to him. Madlyn's head swam as his dark eyes took in every detail of her gagged face. After a full minute, it occurred to her that she hadn't even tried to pull away from him.

"You know, most men are quite foolish." Janos' voice was deep and soothing. " They believe that all women are the same. They believe that what will capture the heart of one woman will work on any woman." He continued to look into Madlyn's eyes. "We know that this is not so, don't we, you and I? We know that some women are best wooed and won with expensive gifts and lavish attention. Others may be persuaded by gentle caresses and kind words." He paused, and lightly ran his finger along the crease in her cheek caused by the gag. "And, then, there are those women-not all, but more than a few-who will only surrender themselves when they lie bound and helpless at the feet of a man who knows how to conquer them." Madlyn gasped, saliva bubbling around the leather pad in her mouth; she was horrified at the easy confidence in his appraisal of her... and at her own inability to deny it.

The hand on her buttocks, now, drew her up against Janos, and she found herself writhing at the hardness she found there. She was pulling at her bonds, to... escape? No, she realized-just to feel them. To feel her muscles strain uselessly, allowing Janos' fingers to find places on her naked body no man had ever before visited: neck, ears, armpits-there didn't seem to be a square inch of her body that he didn't know how to arouse.

Madlyn was moaning loudly through her gag, now. Her loins reached for Janos, but he kept his body aloof. Never once did his hands stray to her sex; there was no need. Her bound body was already his. She strained and wept as he caressed and toyed with her. When he finally entered her, she shuddered against him like a palsied thing, and her mind sank into a blackness so deep she didn't care if she ever came out again.