Caroline Dover followed her owner out into the morning. She did not instantly grasp that the wagon wheel was the instrument of torture. When it was made clear to her, she exclaimed, “But it goes around and around! You mean, I–”
“Today is for repairs and rest. The wagon will not move.”
“I suppose I won’t move either?”
“Mais certainment! How did you guess?”
Caroline was vexed by how little she was prone to anger with this man. She was sure she should be in hysterics. If this wheel spelt punishment, the least she could expect would be a day of discomfort. She kept her voice under control. “Do you want me to position myself some way?”
“You kneel–your feet back with a spoke between–and I’ll do the rest.”
She felt silly, like a small girl being instructed in a strange new duty. Curious, she looked back to watch her ankles being tied. With a spoke between, they could not be withdrawn. Her binding had begun.
“I think ye seek my shame. Like this–before all the camp?”
“They’ve all see ye naked, and there’s none here watching now.”
“But when you’re gone, they’ll come quickly enough! Will they switch me with the willows?”
“There will be no willows.” Dubois lifted her left hand as high as her arm would stretch. Studiously, he began to tie its scarlet wrist to the rim. “You’ll find this wheel unkind enough without any willows.”
“Or is it the way you tie me?”
He had her right hand now, its wrist hard against the metal tire and hardwood felloe. His care and precision in its binding was the same as with her left. They were identically placed on the outer perimeter of the wagon wheel, stretched high and wide to compel the captive girl hard back against the hub. As on a previous occasion, Caroline found herself looking down at tautened and protruding breasts.
“Well?”
Dubois’s question held a chuckle. The tied girl could now comprehend what her day would be like. The hub was pressing into the small of her back in a way to presage distress to come. Nor could she move to find easement. Her arms were tied too tight and too far out for that. As though to make quite sure, Dubois now tied each of them above the elbow hard back against a spoke. The pressure against her back and the arrogance of breasts was now doubled. Their owner’s retort was bitter.
“I might bear this if you had not tied my elbows. I can see why you used the word ‘unkind.'” Beseechingly, the bound girl gazed up into smiling eyes. “Please–not my elbows!”
Nodding in satisfaction at his work, Jean Dubous stepped back for a leisurely contemplation, intense enough to make his victim blush. Knowing herself condemned, Caroline said nothing, but bowed her head to hide her hurt. He soon went away and left the girl on the wheel alone. Knowing that he was gone, she struggled. But it only hurt her more, so she scarcely moved at all. It hurt a little even to breathe. It would be best to remain submissively still. Resigned to her fate, she once more bent her head.
…
Dubois was leisurely in his return. Approaching soundlessly, he was able to survey his captive for almost a minute before she sensed his presence and raised her head. Caroline’s greeting was simple.
“I hurt.”
Dubois nodded. “You will come to hate that wheel.”
“Must you keep me tied to it? I cannot move.”
He shrugged his most eloquent of shrugs. “That is the way of the wheel, cherie, and you are on it.”
