I am being watched from more than one table. It is quite delicious. I must concentrate to keep my features as svelte and soigne as the things I wear. I must not do what Naomi calls "show my glow". Naomi has adjured me on this. It is important to our image that I appear as sophisticated as she. The effect is devastating. It baffles them all.
Today it is the collar, exquisitely silver with gems. Were it not so highly polished and with its inside edges smoothed I could not wear it without pain. It is heavy with good solid metal and fits my throat to snug perfection. It should, it cost a fortune. Yet, of its own, the lovely band around my neck might evoke no more than a second glance of mild curiosity, or admiration, or envy. It is the padlock that reaches out around the room and compels attention. The silver band is of Cartier or Tiffany, but the pendant lock which is by no means tiny proclaims a stern plebeian utility. It is closed upon me for a single purpose.
Naomi and I return the glances and the stares with a cool assessing insolence. It is a game we adore, this guessing of the knowledge that may or may not burn behind the eyes that scrutinize me with their own speculation. We can never be certain of our judgments. I am so outrageous that none will dare approach, for to do so places upon them a label they fear to wear. I am a delicacy no one will accept for fear of being called glutton. My armour is truth.
My collar and its padlock are potent, but there is more! As I ply my knife or raise my fork the bands upon my wrists are wanton in their demand. Each bears its pendant heart that calls me captive-yet I am free! I am a glorious anomaly that renders the floor show superfluous. I intrigue their audience and divert it to myself. Naomi's eyes and mine sparkle with our own delight. The Restraunt is in suspense, awaiting our departure to behold whatever my ankles may display.
"The elderly lady with the pearls, I think she knows." Naomi allows herself only the tiniest smile.
"There's a plumpish chap over to your left-"
"The dark blue serge?"
"He's got an erection. I can tell. His eyes are glazed and he keeps feeling below as though he can't believe it's true." My features remain sedate as though discussing the decor. "His wife's been talking but he hasn't heard a word."
Naomi surveys me with approval. "It's a shame we can't charge for you, Sukie."
I survey the prospect of being bartered for huge sums. The silver bands exert a mystic power. It is heady stuff and I am a little drunk with it. The room envies Naomi.
Her regret is rhetorical and mischievous. Naomi would never sell me. She basks in the glory of possession. "I feel sorry for the young ones," she says slowly. "Those three simulated executive types at the third table have got the hots for us both in a big way. But they're lost, they haven't a clue. They're writing us off as expensive and unattainable."
We would like to giggle, but we must not flaw the portraits we present. We strive toward an intellectual estheticism as the perfect foil for my padlocks. No matter how earthy the sibilance of our exchange, our features remain composed. We could be Woman's Lib', discussing the elimination of man. Or costly courtesans.
"Have you noticed our waiter, darling?" I whisper. "He's coming again. His hard is down in his trousers so it's affecting his stride."
"He's determined not to look at your collar, Sukie, but he scarcely takes his eyes off it. We'll be lucky not to get dessert in our laps."
We pretend not to notice him as he flutters. But there is a tremendous awareness all around. I long for him to see me naked. He would melt or explode. I make much play with my wrists so that the padlocks make small musical sounds and the gems reflect the light. It is a kindness to the poor man as he tops glasses that need no more. Observing the bracelets at close range relieves his need to examine my collar. He perspires gently and drops a spoon. In a sudden urgency he escapes.
"I think he had a climax, darling," Naomi comments. "Really, Sukie, you're just too much. I'm beginning to feel desperate myself."
I preen inwardly. Later, Naomi may make me scream. But this moment is mine. I am very happy. I never think of afterwards-at least not often! To do so leaves me quivering and palpitating; a girl can bear only so much ecstasy.
"It will do you good," I admonish primly. "You'll enjoy me that much more." But then I raise my eyes to hers and am consumed with lust. Naomi is gorgeous.
We exude a delicious aura of wealth. It is genuine. I am very rich. Naomi has no money at all. It should be the other way around, but we do not mind. It is one more of the inconsistencies we delight to project. Money is beautiful; we both adore it as we adore each other. Naomi has an exquisite body on which I forever feed. She tells me I writhe most satisfyingly beneath her whip.
I have discovered that, in telling of our love, I must speak more of what is in our minds than of the things Naomi does to me. I think this may be true of most narrative. But when I do it I sound like an exuberant child or an elated little girl. I don't think I'm either. But then, maybe... I'm out of my teens! So is Naomi.
A slave girl lives a lot inside her mind, far more than if she was running free about the town. She also lives very much as a projection of whoever owns her. Whatever that person thinks becomes terribly important to her. I often hang in breathtaking suspense on Naomi's words and the way she purses her lips or lets me see her eyes. If you think that's awful it's because you don't understand. It's wonderful! It's a form of love.
I used the word, didn't I! The forbidden word. I don't see why people fight shy of it. A lot of them are slaves without knowing. But when a girl knows, that's when it's too beautiful for any other word to be thought of. I'm Naomi's slave. I glory in it. She didn't buy me and she didn't beat me, it just happened. She beats me now, of course, Often!
There is a girl watching us with an anguished wanting. She is trying not to be too obvious, but her gaze returns again and again. A young man is boring her with speech she does not hear. She gives him only a perfunctory attention. He is irritated and puzzled. Naomi and I mean nothing to him. He does not know. I feel sorry for them both. I know how bereft I'd feel if I sat where the girl now sits, and I think it must be wounding to the man to become gradually aware his girl has lost interest in whatever maleness he has to offer. They are sharing loneliness.
Having exhausted rude conjecture about our fellow diners we turn to each other and Naomi's favorite subject which is me. "What should I do to you when I get you home, Sukie?" she asks brightly.
"Love me."
"Hmmmm, I may." She pretends to consider, then eyes me sternly. "How's your pain threshold?"
"Oh, darling, it's low!" I lie demurely. "You should have told me to have the roast beef."
"Don't fib. You're in perfect health and vigor. You'd give Torquemada a run for his money."
She is right, of course, but we thrive on this erotic repartee. Our pulses race and we hope those at the next table are listening. "Am I to be tortured, darling?" I ask hopefully.
"Don't you deserve it?"
"Of course not! I haven't eyed a man in lust all evening."
"That's not the only cardinal sin, y'know."
"Alright, so how are you going to justify my screams this time?"
"I don't have to, Pet. Your just being you justifies tossing in DeSade and Captain Bligh as well. Your sensuousness is a menace for blocks around."
"I can't help it if you can't control your pussy."
"I suppose yours is bone dry?"
"Let me beat you this evening-just a little."
"That's impertinent, Sukie."
I squirm. Impertinence is well up on our Calendar of Crimes. I can't remember the penalty but I'm sure it's bad. "I'm sorry, darling. I take it back. Please forgive me," I say with deep and delicious penitence. If I was damp before, I am doubly so now.
"Too late! You know it is."
I know it is too late, and thrill to the knowledge. For Sukie it is always too late. My penitence is real enough for I may scream. But I would feel unloved if Naomi heeded it. To plead is ecstasy. "What is my punishment, darling?" My voice trembles with longing.
"I've forgotten, Pet," Naomi admits. "But I'm sure you won't like it." She twinkles possessively at my apprehension. "I'm trying to remember. Was it the bedpost?"
I do not like the bedpost. Naomi knows I do not like it, and uses reference to it constantly to make me quiver and bestow upon her the doe-eyed appeal she adores. I give of my best and make my words tremulous. "Please, darling! Oh please!"
"When did you last get the bedpost?"
"Last week," I lie hopefully.
"You know perfectly well you haven't had it for at least two weeks, Sukie. Now you get debited with a lie, one of your own special lovely little lies."
"It was quite small," I agree demurely.
"But it earns the penance, Pet."
Of course it earns the penance. I am domiciled within a lovely edifice of penances, with sweet gardens and patios of pain. I sigh gorgeously in contemplation of beatitude. My pussy purrs.
We sip our liqueurs like the contented cats we are. The crystal complements the silver of my bands. Toying with my glass I make great play with the padlock on my wrist. The plumpish man and the pearl lady devour me and my symbols with hungry eyes. I speculate as to whether, within their minds, they are whipping me or chaining me in some stone place to which they alone hold the key. To them I am a slave, yet in this moment they are mine... mine! I toy with a morbidly attractive fantasy of Naomi lending me to one of them, delivering me helpless into their mercy. What would they do with me, or to me! Their unattractiveness makes the prospect potent with perversion, a cringe making punishment I would loathe. Occasionally she actually inflicts such ordeals on my protesting psyche. She says they give me perspective. She is right. They also make me shed oceans of tears. Yet when I am delivered back to her, our joy is doubly deep as she laves and kisses whatever wounds I may have collected in a foreign captivity.
The raptly awaited moment of our departure arrives. We leave our table with all the languid grace we can generate, joyously conscious of the avid eyes seeking my ankles for a further confirmation of what I am. They find it, oh yes, we made sure they find it! My anklets are even more evocative than the bands upon my wrists and throat. They have been subtly crafted to be a part of me, broad and gleaming in an unbroken circle that defies conjecture. For these, we have discarded padlocks. We must, after all, consider some proprieties. For me to clink as I walk would be an ostentation. But the implacable steel bands proclaim themselves with a message few will fail to read. Naomi and I make a grand exit amidst a hush of awe.
At home we giggle. We are two girls who have shocked outrageously. We wish we could have heard the comments, but we can guess. We are not one whit surprised when our chimes ring from the hall. It is not the first time we have been tailed. We are quite cruel in our enjoyment of the lust we invoke with my bejewelled bonds, and would be sadly disappointed if no predator appeared. They pursue us often, and are not always male.
This one is male, an anonymous business type blending into the world of money. We had noted him among the diners, but given him no second glance. His tailor was competent. He was vaguely middle-aged and well composed. From his appraising eyes I read the knowledge that had we failed to match his memory he would have used an expedient to turn and leave.
"Miss Stevens and Miss Terrace." He vouchsafed us the slightest inclination of his head. "My name is Denholt. May I come in?"
"You bribed the door man to get our names," Naomi accused.
He nodded, unabashed. "It seemed only polite. My christian name is Colin."
We invite him in. These interludes are a part of our dining enjoyment. When we deem them dangerous we close the door. This one. passes our practiced scrutiny. He accepts the highball we offer with the chair and frankly evaluates us and our possessions. We sit expectantly in cool hauteur and hope he will be articulate.
"You were not advertising." It is a statement.
"No."
He sips and smiles gently. He is astute and has tumbled to our game. "Bothered much by fellows like me?"
"Not bothered, flattered."
"Do anything about it?"
"No."
He absorbs our negatives with the highball and tenders us an empty glass. "A chap needs a couple of these to cope with you two. Does money get us beyond the monosyllables?"
"No."
He sighs and surveys our breasts while accepting the refill. "Figured it wouldn't," he admitted. He focuses on my collar. "That hardware, it means something. You two play for keeps?"
"Yes."
"Can any number play? Me, for instance?"
"No."
"Why d'you let me in?"
"Pure selfishness," Naomi admits prettily. "When you look at us the way you do it makes our cunts quiver."
The four letter word sets him off balance. "Serve you right if some man raped you both."
Naomi smiled at me. "That's the thought that wets us, isn't it Sukie!" Then to him: "We're pure bitch. But don't try anything."
"Suppose I pull a gun?"
"D'you enjoy intercourse with a dead girl?"
Unruffled, he looked at me. "You know why I'm here, it's those bands and locks. Can you get 'em off?"
"No."
"You like that, 'eh?"
"Of course," I twinkle at him. "You do too."
"Sukie!" Naomi will never let me hold the floor. "I suppose there's a cage or a dungeon somewhere?" His tone is pleasantly conversational. "We have both."
He looks to Naomi. "And you punish her?"
"Constantly."
"What you're playing," he allows his gaze to wander back and forth between Naomi and myself, "is a nice sadistic little ploy to show a man Paradise and then slam the door. Does something for you?"
"Palpitates our pussies," Naomi admits. "You're a delightful hors d'oeuvre to what I'm going to do to Sukie later on."
I melt deliciously beneath their attention. My penalty hovers. Whatever it may be, it would take Mr. Denholt to heart's desire. I contrive a nice blend of the contrite and the demure and regale him with my best doe-eyed appeal. He visibly suffers. His voice is husky.
"Well, what are you going to do to her?"
Naomi pretends to consider. "Perhaps a nice whipping."
"Can I watch?"
He is suddenly a small boy glimpsing his ultima Thule. He comes alive, a vulnerable prey to feminine perversity, Naomi's concern almost seems genuine.
"I'm afraid not. Really, Mr. Denholt I am sorry. But Sukie has to be naked when she's whipped."
Mr. Denholt's erection is now visible beneath the expensive cloth. He is reeling under the impact of a vision. The eyes he turns to me are slightly glazed. "Would you mind if I saw you whipped?"
I am flooded with ecstasy and a wetness between my legs. I am thankful for Naomi's firm interjection. "What Sukie wants or minds is of no concern, Mr. Denholt. When she is whipped she must be fastened. With her tied helpless you might be unable to control yourself. The risk is too great. In any case, for you to see her naked is hardly proper."
He is a man of business. "One thousand dollars," he says simply.
"Please!"
"Two thousand dollars."
The thought of his desire and the sight of his hard protrusion bring me close to climax. I am denied to men but they excite me. I long for him to see me naked, and wonder how far Naomi will allow this game to go. I wish I could bargain with this male, not for the money but for the excitement his hunger would generate in my loins. But I know I must be cautious, Naomi might never forgive me. I already have a punishment to endure. But I need not worry, she is enjoying this as much as I. She cocks an inquisitive eyebrow.
"You would pay so much just to see her punished?"
"Of course. We understand each other, don't we?"
"It would be unkind to the dear girl. Imagine her feelings to be bound naked before a man who watches her writhe under my lash. She often screams."
"I would sincerely hope she would!"
His avowal demands response, but there is silence. I break it timidly. I am in an absurd dither of lubricity.
"It's awfully nice of you to want to see me like that, Mr. Denholt."
My shaft is deadly. It is he who writhes. I know the deadly potency of female submission. So does Naomi. She adds her own bit of fuel to the poor man's fire: "I suppose you wish to use the poor child carnally?" She allows the exquisite suggestion to sink well in, then adds: "And probably myself as well?"
For a moment he believes. "You are very kind-"
"We have concupiscent cunts."
He is breathless with desire. Naomi is Aphrodite offering her pussy and the pussy of Astarte to the plebeian. "After... after you have whipped her?"
"After!" Naomi makes it sound an affront. . "Well, yes-! Could I myself perhaps... just a few strokes?"
"Your interest is in the whip, not us?"
"I did not say that. Please... "
"Why not whip dear Sukie after you have fucked her instead of before? Or do you propose whipping me too?"
Poor Mr. Denholt! Men are defenseless before Naomi. He knows he is being played with but lacks a wit as razor sharp as hers. He visibly squirms and waves a deprecating hand. We sit: two female vultures.
"Alright, you're having fun. Since it's me who's providing the diversion you can give me another drink." He hands me his glass and eyes us both without rancour. When I return it filled he shakes his head in good natured sorrow and looks me in the eye. "In those thingummys she's locked on you, you're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. You know that, don't you."
"Thank you," I manage to whisper.
"I don't know how it is with you," he continues soberly. "But all my life I've had a dream. If we were to join those silver bands you're wearing with silver chains you'd be that dream." He ruminated silently for a moment. "Can't blame me for trying?"
I do not look at Naomi. "You're terribly sweet, Mr. Denholt."
"I want to fasten you naked in some exquisite way and then whip you." He bestowed on me a frank look of honest male hunger. "Is that very bad... unforgivable?"
"No... not really." I long to mother him. At that moment I would gladly let him whip me, he is so sad, he needs me so much. I feel I should reveal a breast and offer it to his lips. I cannot hold my frost as long as Naomi can. It is she who pulls me from the brink.
"It is not unforgivable, Mr. Denholt, just unattainable. Sukie is not for sale."
He smells defeat, but tries: "I am a very rich man?"
"No one is rich enough to buy Sukie."
"So I may as well go, eh!" His grin is more sad than bitter. "I've served my purpose. I expect Sappho's smiling somewhere."
"You've made Sukie wet between her legs, Mr. Denholt, if that's any consolation," Naomi conceded brightly. "But we're a pair of bitches-at least I am! I hope the drinks helped."
He handed her the once more empty glass. "And that's my conge, eh! I can go gracefully or be mown down."
He has touched Naomi as he has touched me. Her light kiss on his cheek surprises us all. At the door he fumbles and flips me a business card "Here, slave girl, you never know... "
He is gone, but we do not laugh as we usually do. His small engraved token lies pathetically on the rug. I pick it up and put it on the mantel. I look at Naomi hopefully. My punishment is probably close.
"Mr. Denholt will cost you, Sukie. You were lusting for him."
"I can't help it, darling. Besides, that's what we let him in for, wasn't it!" I brazenly stick out my tongue. "And you kissed him."
"Well, never mind," Naomi says impatiently. "We should stop asking them in. You're too susceptible. Get those clothes off."
It was not so much an order as a reminder. Naomi keeps me naked within our home. I am supposed to undress immediately upon entering the door. It is mandatory that I be bare to be punished or bound. Her command starts me quivering. "What's my penalty, darling?"
"You can go to your room to get rid of your clothes. The chart's on the wall. Read it and tell me when you return and no fibbing."
I speed on my errand. I am in the grip of that most delicious fear of all, the knowledge of a pending punishment I can't escape. Sometimes I am so consumed by lust I have no wish to escape-there are some punishments I adore in moderation. But not all! Perhaps today! Discarding my soigne finery of the evening-those lovely things I so seldom wear by day-I embrace my nudity and go to read the chart. Our memories are correct. I am to get the bedpost, my spirits flag.
Our chart is cute. It is also long. My darling and I gave it a joint birth, discussing every possible transgression and devising its appropriate penalty. I was granted full power to innovate or suggest my own discomfort for my crimes, but Naomi held the power of veto and final decision. Here and there I contrived some small mercy for my flesh but not often. We argued as to whether it should be called the "Code Naomi" or the "Code Sukie". It ended up simply as the Code. For me, the word has a terrible potency. "It's the bedpost, darling."
With small hope I give Naomi a look of doe-eyed appeal. Sometimes it softens her a bit but those times are rare. I hate the bedpost. I'd far sooner be whipped.
"I thought it was!" She sounds so damn happy about it. "Come here, Sukie, I'll unlock your wristlets and anklets. You can wear your collar."
"Couldn't I be forgiven, darling?"
"No."
"But I wasn't all that impertinent, was I!"
"Any impertinence is enough. Look at you now-trying to coax me."
"Just a little forgiveness, Naomi dear? Please?" I make my voice tremulous. "You don't really want to sleep alone, do you?"
"It won't be the first time. Besides, I won't be entirely without your company. Any more of these sweet maiden entreaties and I'll whip you as well, and on your front."
In docile resignation I offer my limbs for the removal of the beloved bands. The strange small keys find their slots and the metal opens to release my wrists and ankles for the ropes. Dolor descends.
"Put these away and get handcuffs and rope, Sukie. You can meet me in my room." Naomi has obviously charted my course.
My bare feet speed to keep safe the treasures warm from my skin. I wonder what new sensations they will invoke for me when next I wear them. I must not dawdle at such times. Naomi is strict with me and insists on obedient responses. Whatever equality I enjoy beyond the walls vanishes within our demesne. I may assert myself but it is at my own risk. Punishment for disobedience is dire. I secure rope and cord and the lovely gleaming handcuffs and carry them wanly to my doom.
Naomi's room is beautiful, as is indeed my own. But mine is little used. It is hers we share when I am not caged or imprisoned for delinquency. In hers there is The Bed! The Bed is beautiful! It is a massive four poster carved and fashioned for us to our own design. It possesses features rare and wonderful and sometimes frightening. Tonight it will play host to my shrinking nudity throughout the long, long hours of darkness and beyond.
"Back or profile, darling?" I inquire meekly. I have abandoned hope.
"Back, Pet. It bothers you more trying to look over your shoulder."
I go to the foot of the bed and place my naked back against a post-a post so solid that all my strength will not shake it. I face away from the pillows and across the room. Naomi pulls my hands behind the polished wood and joins them there with the handcuffs. I am captive.
"I could leave you just like that, Sukie."
I know she could. But I am sure she will not. I know, too, that anything I say will cost me. I stand erect and beautiful against my post and stare into a horizon I cannot see. Naomi surveys me judicially, fingertips beneath her chin, as though the manner of my binding is all important to us both. I suppose for me it is! Cords and ropes become alive and personal within my flesh. I hope my pussy will excite her and make her relent to have me sleep with her. I make my bush as prominent as I can. My breasts are already pointing.
"Looking douce will do you no good, Pet."
"Sorry, darling, you don't want me to cry yet, do you?"
"Watch it! And you're being punished-no more darlings."
"I'm sorry, Mistress. I won't forget again."
The "Mistress" thing is part of our code. When I am in disgrace I must always use it. I do not like it but it potently keeps me in my place.
"Sukie! You did not forget. You just hoped I wouldn't notice." Naomi looks at me in make believe disdain. "And there's something you're dying to ask me, I can tell. Out with it."
I squirm against my handcuffs. Naomi is right. But I am afraid. "Please Mistress, may I be whipped instead of having this punishment?" My voice trembles.
"No. If I hadn't prompted the question you'd be punished for it."
"Thank you, Mistress."
"What d'you say to rope at shoulders, tummy, knees and ankles, Pet?"
"Thank you, Mistress."
We both know I am not the least bit thankful. To be tied like that becomes agony after a couple of hours. If I could I'd sink to my knees and beg, but my handcuffs won't let me. I maintain a discreet silence while three bands of rope are passed around my waist and the post and pulled and pulled. When they are too tight a cinching band is passed between me and the wood and tightened enough to make me squeal.
"Too tight, Pet?"
"Oh yes, Mistress!"
"Good! If I could make it tighter I would." Her voice is honey.
I cannot fall or move. I am held. My darling separates my feet to each side and ties them there. The separation tells me my pussy will receive attention. My knees are tied in the same way. I wish she would be satisfied to leave me tied as I now am; I wish it ardently. I am more than helpless. The ropes round my middle have reduced me to less than any Victorian maiden shrank beneath her corset. My bush has become a beacon.
Naomi now takes the handcuffs from my wrists. She crosses them back there out of my sight and ties them fast with cord. She ties with care and concentration. The slender strictures will hurt me more and deny me the bit of freedom a girl may get from handcuffs. I am wishing I had not been impertinent, and making all sorts of vows. My puss pulses with an embarrassing inconsistency. Naomi is certain to test it soon. I know what she will find.
"There's a rope hanging, darling, did you know?" Her voice is casual.
I should have known better than to suppose it a loose end. Naomi abhors loose ends. I can look down still and see it falling from the brutal belts around my middle and vanishing between my legs. I raise my eyes piteously to plead: "Not the crupper! Oh Mistress!"
"Why not, Pet?"
"I wasn't that impertinent."
"Stop harping on that. You'll wear a crupper and like it. You know I love sliding it through your slit."
I will not like it at all, but I will wear it. Again I keep my gaze on the non-existent horizon while my Mistress brings into use the hole drilled through the bedpost just below the belts that cinch my tummy. The end of the rope which drops away from my navel in front comes up between my legs and is threaded through this convenient orifice. It is done now with some difficulty for I am already tied. I am spared no pain that facilitates the operation. When Naomi is able to grasp the protruding end and pull, I mutely plead she will not pull too hard.
"Feeling anxious, Pet?"
"Mistress, it's awful! I wish you wouldn't. I hate it!"
"Of course, darling. But I love it on you."
The rope is long enough that she can hold the end while she kneels before my bound nakedness. She looks up at me and grins before she buries her face in my bush and kisses my hidden lips again and again. Her tongue pierces me, but only once to tell me what might have been had I been a good girl. Naomi and I can speak volumes without words. I gasp in surprise and longing. She pulls the rope. As it rises between me and the post it burns my skin-I am tied that tight. At the moment it tensions beneath my crotch Naomi pauses.
"Dear little cunt," she croons softly. "Sweet little cunt... and wet... "
With finger and thumb she parts my pursed puss so that the tensioned rope enters me between the soft labia I cannot control or shield. I cannot move down there at all. My loins are hers as is the rest of me. My darling stands and kisses my longing hungry lips. It is a prelude.
It is beautifully simple. All Naomi has to do is pull the rope, the more she pulls the more sad and tearful will be my night. She pulls now and carefully watches the rope cut inside me as she parts my pubic hair to attain the degree of estheticism she desires. My darling is a perfectionist.
Each of us is aware of a contest. The effect of the rope penetrating my puss is to lift me with its cutting intimacy within my loins. I do not want to be lifted, for whatever raising of my flesh may be achieved must be borne through the coming hours. I am tied implacably down there, but as she increases her tensioning my instinct is to accommodate the cutting of my cunt by straining up and up. I know I must fight the pain; the more I stretch the more she will pull. We fight for the tiniest advantage: an inch or perhaps only a half. I know I will later weep over every fraction I yield. I fight to remain inert.
"I know what you're doing, Pet," Naomi assures me comfortably. "I want you to wriggle and stretch a bit so I can do a good job with this."
"It's too tight already, Mistress. I can't move."
"Try."
Her free hand raises to my breast. My nipple is gripped with thumb and finger. She raises a quizzical eyebrow. "Want me to pinch, Pet?"
I wriggle and struggle. What else can I do! I know all about having my nipple pinched, the pain dissolves me. I manage only a quiver against my darling's ropes but it is enough for her purpose. She tugs gleefully so that the rope beds happily deeper. I know that if I was not tied so rigidly I would be standing on my toes. I have lost my fight.
"It's a beautiful effect, darling."
I am sure it is! It is also very painful, like a small savage animal biting busily within my bush and the cleft of my bottom. I am very sure I make a lovely picture of a tied girl as I stand nakedly welded to Naomi's bedpost. The plea I make now is most sincere.
"Mistress, please not any more rope. Not my shoulders too!" I gaze into her eyes with all my love.
"Good try, darling. But of course your shoulders! They complete the ensemble. A couple of strands of nice thin rope that get well into you. You'll look sweet."
"I don't feel sweet. Naomi, don't be so mean."
"What did you say!"
"I'm sorry, Mistress, it sorta' slipped out."
"Your shoulders for sure now, Pet-and tight!" By our Code it is what I deserve. I look as forlorn as I can contrive and keep very silent while the first rope slips beneath my armpit, crosses over my shoulder beside my neck, and is drawn back to encircle the post. When this small torture Naomi loves on me is completed my shoulders are cinched cruelly back, but all that is visible to an observing eye are two double bands of rope cutting deep into my shoulders from beneath my armpits and over and back. Nothing crosses my chest, yet I am clasped back against the post as by demanding hands. My breasts bear no bonds, but are thrust into outrageous expression. They cannot move, none of me can move.
Naomi is immensely happy. Her eyes sparkle with delight. Her hand cups my pierced puss. The rope within me inhibits but I gasp in joy. I want her to hold it there forever, but she raises it to my lips and makes me lick it dry. It is very wet with me.
"You're functioning nicely, darling."
"Yes, Mistress."
"Is the pain very bad, Pet?"
"It's awful."
I give the declaration all the vibrating urgency I can. Unwisely, I add another poignant plea. "Not all night, Mistress? Please, not all night like this?"
"Darling, you're becoming tiresome. You know you shouldn't. I'm going to clip your nips to teach you a lesson."
My moan is real. The clips are small jewelled devils crafted to bite my nipples and reduce me to tears. Their small teeth do not impede circulation but are bitter and relentless in their gnawing at my rosebuds. I get them often but love them not.
"Forgive me, Mistress." I had best be very humble. "No, I won't."
I watch sadly as Naomi takes the small horrors from her jewel case. I cannot move, so have no decisions. My breasts stick out and my nipples point. They betray me. They become more traitorous yet under my darling's fingertips. I look down askance as each clip is positioned on the sensitive nub it is to punish and gasp in agony as each is released to pout pertly from my breasts.
"Think the little dears will induce penitence, Pet?"
"Yes, oh yes!"
I can only gasp and hope she will not leave them on me all night. I watch in poignant longing as my darling readies herself for bed, a bed I am not to share, except for the post to which I am so prettily and painfully bound. I can look sideways and see her as she sits before the big mirror and preens. Both my breasts are on fire as is my cunt. Now that I am fastened in my punishment it is forbidden that I speak. My silence is not golden.
Darling Naomi stands before me. Together, we sleep naked. But to emphasize my banishment from love she now wears some scraps of filmy loveliness designed to inflame my lust. In spite of my pain it succeeds. I long to hold her and be held. My ropes mock me.
"Tell me the Code, Pet."
"I must not, speak or disturb you through the night, Mistress."
"You're sweet. Think you can manage it?"
If I could I would wriggle. "I'll try, Mistress," I promise unconvincingly.
"You poor dear!" She kisses me spontaneously. "Would you like to be gagged? It might save you another punishment."
"Oh no... no!"
"I'd use the ring. It's safe for your breathing?" I hate the ring. It opens my mouth wide so I feel like a gasping fish. Its straps hurt my lips. I make my eyes plead for me. "Don't gag me! Oh please, Mistress, don't. I'll be a good girl."
She looks at me doubtfully. She knows my intention is honest but doubts the fortitude of my flesh. Her eyes avidly drink of my nipples and my cunt, she knows I am hurting in all three, but punished as they are they have a beauty all their own. "If you wake me you'll get the gag and twenty with the cane on your bottom tomorrow... hard! Understand, darling? Sure you don't want the gag now?"
I know it would be wise to ask for the gag. My darling is being kind and helpful. But I hate it so much, and she has made the penalty for waking her severe enough to deter. I will rely on my courage. "No, Mistress, I will try and behave, honest I will." I had not dared to hope, but the hope is fulfilled. In sudden compassion Naomi takes the biting clips from my breasts. I moan in pain and joy and thankfulness as she kisses and licks my hurt nipples.
"Oh, thank you, Mistress! Thank you, thank you!" I love her terribly.
As one last prelude to the night, we kiss. The kiss is very long. When we are both panting Naomi turns out the light and snuggles into bed. "Goodnight, my beautiful punished darling," she whispers sleepily. "Goodnight Mistress." The day is done. My night begins.
CHAPTER TWO - THE BEDPOST
The dark brings confrontation. Why, oh why, oh why! I have asked myself so many times why I must be a slave, but the answer is forever clear. I was born for Naomi in the same way as a woman who adores a man believes herself born for his love alone throughout eternity. To lose her would be to die. If she freed me I would return, holding out my wrists to be bound, weeping for her chains. I cannot be free. It is not in me to be free. Without Naomi I am lost.
Sometimes at the start pain has defeated me. It lit my lust but frightened me into panic. I had to learn about pain. Naomi taught me. Now I know my pain to be our love. Without it there could be no measuring of ecstasy. Without it my slavery would be simulation. Agonized, my thralldom is true. For us pain has duality: the gentle pain that is a play of love, fanning our heat, or the pain that goes beyond an easy bearing to make me wish I had not earned it by imprudence and to vow never to earn it more, a vow most sincere but which I never keep.
She is very wise with me, my Naomi. In the penalty beneath which I now keep silent, she knows that ten strokes with the cane, even very hard strokes would draw my tears and perhaps some screams, but would inflame my lust to where I would desire her only and forget my pain. But twenty! Ah, that is something else! I am afraid of twenty, and at the end of them would be quite broken and terribly humble. With pain she can play upon my responses as a harpist plucks music from a harp. Our love is so intense that sometimes it too is hard to tell from pain. We adore each other in the roles that are a part of us.
In the dark I can look sideways at my Mistress in her abandonment to sleep. She sprawls deliciously across the bed I do not share. She does this to show me the deprivation of my punishment. Were our situation reversed I could not sleep at all. I would be bothered and excited knowing her bound here as I am bound. But Naomi knows where I belong and keeps me there lightheartedly with love. I suppose she is made for me as I for her.
The bedpost and I are old friends-or enemies! We have spent many nights together, and some days. But the manner of my fastening is varied so that I can never be quite sure or build up tolerance. One of my worst nights was when I stood with my wrists handcuffed at its back. The clinks and sounds and scuffles my semi-freedom promoted earned me so many penalties I shudder to think of them. I hurt a lot as I now am, but I am held so immovably it becomes a support within which I may be able to snooze. How gorgeous to discover such captive consolations!
Naomi did not need to tie my pussy. It is pure punishment, a gift from my Mistress to her slave. It has no significance beyond just that. She wished to thread the rope within my cunt and tug it tight to remind me of her love and to keep her own pussy excited with thoughts of my discomfort. Most of my punishments are like that, an affirmation. Even though I often weep, I would not part with them.
The ropes cutting my shoulders are a part of my tie. That they hurt me as a punishment hurts is coincidental. I see myself beautifully bound and that each cord is essential to the aesthetics of the whole. I must take my rough with my smooth. I am a slave. Each time I breathe the ropes bite and cut deeper, I take shallow respirations. A slave girl learns.
My poor puss! The rope inside me is as though my darling's fingers were in there seeking cruelty. The plump lips have closed over it accepting it as part of myself, saturating it with my secretions. If I was less tightly tied I would seek whatever surcease it might give. But I cannot move, I cannot quiver. It clamps my clit without sympathy. For me tonight there will be no delicious frictioning. I must stand in a strange loneliness, stealing a sideways glance at the girl upon the bed, longing to awaken her but daring not. From time to time I cry. When I shake the tears angrily from my cheeks they fall like soft caresses on my breasts. I am a slave girl who has transgressed.
I do sleep, small cat-naps in which my head falls forward against the tug of the rope. Each time I awaken it is to unreality and a sudden comprehension. Naomi turns in slumber, luxurious motions in which I believe I scent the perfume of her musk and feel upon my cheeks the soft heat of her thighs. She is very beautiful and I am helpless. I long to be free of my ropes, but, held by them, I know contentment and a great happiness. I expect this inconsistency is the essence of my slavery. I am not too much concerned with analysis; I am simply me.
In my lapses into sleep my mind busies itself with dreams that are mostly memories. Even when I wake my thoughts dwell on them in continuity. It is wiser and safer than yearning to be free and envying the beauty on the bed. I suppose it is the rope punishing my puss that prompts recollection of the Chastity Belt.
My Chastity belt is beautiful. Naomi had it made for me. There was a great kerfluffle of measurements and a coming and going of funny little men. There was also a funny little lady who took the most intimate appraisals and told me I had a lovely bottom. When Naomi ordered me to put it on I did so with a good deal of fear and trembling. It seemed to me I was the last girl to need such protection-unless it was made to hurt and be worn as punishment!
It was a thing of gleaming steel bands and fine silver mesh that was not silver at all but chrome steel. It took both of us to tug it into place, it fitted me as tightly and perfectly as my own skin and clutched me viciously and protectingly wherever a Chastity Belt is supposed to shield. If I'd had inclinations to be a naughty girl it would have kept me pure against all comers. It was so all embracingly adequate I was suddenly aghast. As the last lock clicked tight, I blurted out: "But, darling, what about... I mean, how can I... "
"How can you 'go', Pet?" Naomi giggled. "You don't! This is for special emergencies only."
"What's a special emergency between two girls?" I asked.
The next day I found out!
Handcuffs are almost a part of me. That they locked my wrists behind my back was no more strange than my nudity or the "Playroom". The shackle on my ankle and its long chain was quite in keeping with a mood. If it pleased Naomi to keep me thus, then it pleased me too. The trailing chain allowed me a good deal of freedom. She even left me a book. It's surprising how a girl with her hands fastened behind her back can contrive to turn pages, but she can! I should know, I'm quite good at it. She also left the door ajar as a tantalizer-the chain on my ankle would not let me reach it. My waist, my hips and my pussy were locked in the firm clasp of the Chastity Belt's third tryout of what Naomi chose to refer to as my "Cunt Clincher".
"Good morning, Miss Stevens."
The pert male voice nearly jerked me out of my skin. I dropped my book and turned in consternation, hands tugging at steel bands that held them fast against my instinct to cover my breasts.
He was young, he had a round face, owlish spectacles and a beaming smile. He was obviously enraptured with what he was looking at, which was me. As though dropping an item of major import, he announced: "I'm Gerald."
"Go away."
He was one. of the impervious ones, armoured with a bubbling enthusiasm. My breasts delighted him. "I'm Naomi's brother," he explained as though I ought to feel pleased.
"I don't believe you," I said firmly.
"You can't walk away from here, can you," he mused with evident satisfaction. "I say, are your hands fastened behind you?"
"They're handcuffed, and it's none of your business. Go away."
"Afraid I'll rape you?" His voice was smug.
Naomi had never mentioned a brother. How anyone as beautiful as Naomi could have a brother as mediocre as this was an anomaly of nature. But he was here and I had to adjust to him. He justified the lovely thing locked upon my sex. No doubt this was one of Naomi's darling pranks. I am not always happy with her pleasantries. I'm not supposed to be. "Drop dead," I told him haughtily, and added, "on the other side of the door."
"Sis' said you'd be a bit cheesed."
"I won't believe she sent you until she tells me so."
"It's my birthday," he grinned happily. "You're my present. You have to be nice to me."
"I don't, and I'm not going to! Stop staring."
"Can you take off that metal pantie thing? I want to see your cunt."
"No, I can't."
"Because you're handcuffed?" He oozed bonhomie. "I'll help."
"No one can unlock it except Naomi." I had never made a statement with more relish. Light dawned. He slapped his thigh in amusement and chagrin. "A Chastity Belt! That's a sister for you! I've been shafted."
I adored the tight grip of the metal clutching my loins. I loved Naomi for locking it there. Things were falling into place. I could afford to be haughty.
"Now you've had a good stare at a naked girl, you might as well go."
"But I haven't started!" He seemed surprised. "There's nothing to start." I felt glowingly secure in my belt.
"Oh, but there is, Sukie." He gazed around the room in beaming approval. "You're going to be a very good little girl, aren't you!"
Before Naomi owned me there had been men. I enjoy them. Before she seriously started to cure me of the bad habit I learned a lot about them. I don't want to be naked for their pleasure, but if it happens it's no big thing. I don't entirely dissolve in shame. If, in public, I get enough of their admiring tributes my puss will pulse with pleasure. But Gerald was something else. The way his spectacles devoured me made any covering at all a thing to long for, and the way he examined the room's equipment made me cringe. Naomi can use these lovely things on me and I'll worship her, but not a Male-never a Male! I'd die.
"I'm not going to be anything to you at all," I told Gerald without conviction. "So you may as well get lost."
"Sorry, darling." Naomi sauntered in and kissed me. "Gerald's a bit hard to take, but I'm sure he'll be a wonderful character builder."
"Oh, Mistress, please!" I looked up in woebegone dismay.
"Just one of the small trials, Pet."
"But you never told me."
"One does not boast about Gerald. He's a brat."
"Stow it, Sis'."
"But it is his birthday, and the experience is bound to be exciting-for you, darling." Naomi kissed me again. I needed it.
"Don't leave me with him! Oh, please!"
"But, darling, Gerald's just an inexperienced young man. What can he do that I wouldn't! And besides, you are wearing your belt!"
It was the belt that told me I was sunk. Naomi had planned this. She would get a tremendous charge out of turning me into a gift to this fatuous lout. We'd laugh about it afterwards. I hoped!
"Look here, Sis, that belt's a swindle."
"There's lots of her left to play with, Gerald. Be grateful."
"I want to fuck her."
"Wait 'till you grow up."
I could tell Gerald was longing to say more, but was wondering if he should indeed be grateful for as much of me as he was getting. Apart from his loss of my puss I .was a complete package. I am sure, too, at that moment he was convinced he could remove my Chastity Belt by force after his sister was gone. He contented himself with a grumble.
"You always were a bitch. A piece of tail wouldn't do her any harm. You can douche her out with a Cupid's Quiver before you nibble." He exuded male contempt.
"Do you want my lovely present or don't you?"
"Oh alright!" He eyed his sister dubiously. "Any more hidden kickers?"
"No damage. Understand?"
"O.K. No damage. What d'you take me for!"
I cringed again as my darling handed him two keys. "Her hands and her ankle. Use 'em at your own risk. If she gets away from you she's home free and it's your loss."
With the keys in his hand Gerald seemed to grow six inches. Naomi kissed me once more and patted my hair in a motherly sort of way, then left me in her brother's possession. I had never felt less happy.
"Now, let's get that fool thing off your cunt," said my temporary owner with a fine masculine arrogance.
"You can't possibly," I hastily assured him. "I've often tried myself. It won't come off."
"Don't you want a piece of ass?"
"No I don't! And being vulgar won't impress me."
"I've got a honey of a cock."
"It's probably your only asset."- "My, my! Haughty little damsel, aren't we! It's going to be a pleasure taming you."
I hoped he didn't see me tense. I was scared. I was feeling more and more vulnerable. "You and who else?" I demanded, recklessly depleting my small store of courage. The handcuffs and the ankle band were almost burning me with their warning of my impotence.
With a lordly disregard of my maiden nonsense Gerald toured the room in a rapt appraisal of the delights provided .for my subjection. There were quite a lot of them. He selected a real brute of a swishy cane and returned his attention to me. "What's this, Sukie?"
I sniffed. I wouldn't play his rotten game! But when he sliced the air close enough to make me wince I responded tonelessly: "It's a cane."
"And what's it for, Sukie?"
"To hurt me."
"And why?" He was loving every word.
"Because Naomi wishes to."
"When you've been a bad girl?"
"I suppose so."
"Don't you know?"
"Well yes, when I've misbehaved."
"Scared of it, aren't you!"
"Yes." I hated myself and him.
"So you're going to stand up and hold still while I get that Chastity Belt off you?"
I was on the verge of an angry denial when it occurred to me I had nothing to lose. Secretly amused, I stood erect and lifted my cuffed hands as high as they'd go. Dear Gerald could have a free hand!
At first I wanted to giggle. He was so certain he could bare my pussy for his use. But as he tugged and fingered he began to hurt me, and from his breathing I could tell he was getting some jollies from manhandling some nice female places he was not all that familiar with. "Open your legs."
I obeyed. I had nothing to lose. The mesh and the bands were so tight into me he could not even insert a finger.
"There has to be a trick! What is it?"
"There isn't. Honest! Only Naomi's keys."
"Laughing at me-I can tell! How'd it be I give you a few licks with this cane?"
"Please don't. I still couldn't help you get it off. There's no way."
He had to believe me. He searched for tools, but finding none returned to the fray with changed intent. Placing one arm over mine at my back, he used his other hand to cup and manipulate my chain nailed pussy.
"Damn! Don't you feel anything?"
"Nothing." My breathing was confirmingly even. "I'm afraid the mesh is too heavy and too tight for friction to come through. Sorry!"
"You're not sorry at all." Abandoning one objective he sought another. "How d'you get fastened when you're caned?"
"Please don't cane me. I haven't done anything."
".Who said you had? Answer the question."
I was frighteningly helpless, not totally but close to it. I most urgently did not want to be caned by this absurd cross between a man and a boy. I abandoned thoughts of contemptuous silence, it wouldn't work with Gerald. Gerald would welcome excuses.
"I get strapped to that bench. I lean forward on it with my legs hanging. The strap buckles tight over the small of my back."
Gerald was intrigued. "What happens to your hands and feet?"
I shrugged resignedly. "There's straps for my wrists and ankles below-you can see them. But they're not essential."
"What d'you mean, they're not essential?"
"Well, the band over my back holds my bottom in place and I can't reach the buckle. Sometimes your sister likes to let me pound my fists and kick. I can't help it-I just have to."
"Hurts that much, 'eh?"
"It's too awful to describe."
"Come off it! Can't be that bad?"
"Let me hit you once if you want to find out. The pain's so terrible you curl up inside and howl."
Gerald was interested. I wished I'd been less graphic. He eyed the grim wooden structure with respectful interest. Struck by a practical consideration he turned me around and examined the area of my bottom not protected by the belt. There was more of it than I would have liked. Encased in steel it acquired an opulent bulge. He patted it to feel the resilience and tried ineffectually to insert a finger in search of my rectum. "Bend down, Sukie. As far as you can." Inwardly I groaned. With some girls their pussy popped up behind in a most amazing manner when they were well bent forward. I wasn't sure how shameless mine was, or if the belt's protection was equal to the test.
"There just has to be some way... " Gerald mused as he prodded and hurt. From the way his finger went or did not find I knew the belt and I were winning. But maybe there were worse things than his silly 'piece of tail'. Miserably, I knew there could be. I bent and strained and widened my legs just so I would not be accused of denying his lust. "Shit!"
All the agony of the frustrated male was in the single word. I had an awful feeling that frustration was likely to get worked off on me. When he desisted his attack on my most private place, I stood up and did my insincere best with a sympathetic smile. He glowered.
"If I unlock your handcuffs and put your hands in front, will you unzip my fly and suck my cock?"
I couldn't say Gerald was deviant. He liked sex, if not one way then another. I won't pretend I was too shocked. I know all about oral sex, and I'd seen this coming. But I hated the abnegation of his demand.
"Certainly not!" I glowered too.
He raised the cane. "Would this change your mind?"
I was so damn helpless! I took a desperate plunge. "Look, Gerald, any man can take a naked girl who's been made helpless with handcuffs and things, and beat her into doing anything. Is that the way you want me-bludgeoned into submission?"
It sounded good. It should have touched him. It didn't! He swished the cane gently. "Bludgeoned! Oh come, Sukie, this nice cane is much more subtle. I figure it hurts more and damages less."
I stood there naked and kicked petulantly at the chain on my ankle and tugged at the handcuffs. I kept my eyes away from his pants. But I was defeated and we both knew it.
"Can't get away, can you, Sukie?"
I longed to kick and claw his complacency. I'd been handed to him on a plate but he was as smug as if he'd mastered me all by himself. I made my voice coldly contemptuous.
"Birthday presents aren't supposed to."
He nodded brightly, he'd gotten the point alright. "Tell you what, Sukie, you and me aren't going to enjoy ourselves one bit until you climb down from that high horse or ivory tower or whatever it is that keeps you looking down your nose at me. How's about I warm your ass?"
"I'm sorry." I gave him my most sincere look. "I really am sorry about... well, about the spot I'm in. Can't you understand how nearly impossible it is for me to feel enthused?"
"Why Sukie!" He was animatedly approving in a way that made me suspicious. "Atta' girl! You've got it figured. You're feeling sort of... well, sort of left out, sort of being used. It's up to good old Gerald to make you feel like you belong. You trot over to that bench and bend over on it like you said.
After I've romped on your ding-dong a bit with the cane you'll come to like me."
"Don't be silly, Gerald."
"Sukie!" He loaded my name with reproof.
"Hurting me like that's not going to make me like you."
"What about when my sister canes your bottom? Don't tell me you dislike her?"
"That's different." I knew I blushed.
"Different-? Because you both nibble?"
"You make lovely things sound horrid. Gerald, be nice to me."
"How can I when you're locked into a Chastity Belt! Any other suggestions?"
"We could go out on the town, a movie, the big Game tonight?"
"Come off it, Sukie!"
He was an unmanageable mixture of adult and adolescent who'd been given the toy most men want most. Glumly, I recognized that in his shoes I wouldn't part with me either: A naked girl, chained for his pleasure! Even with the Chastity Belt I was a privilege. "Aren't there some things you'd like us to do that won't hurt me?" I pleaded.
"I'll think of some later. Get over that bench."
"No."
Flexing the cane and smiling, he approached. In a blind panic of not wanting any part of him, I ran. The chain snubbed my ankle at the fourth step. I turned, angry, helpless and trapped, glaring defiance.
"Leave me alone, Gerald! Don't touch me!" He motioned me to the bench with his cane. When he approached I dived beneath his arm and fled to the opposite radius of my tether. Quite hopeless, of course, but I was desperate. I stood, panting and close to tears. When I made my next run, Gerald simply reached out and grabbed a handful of my hair.
"Why, Sukie girl, one would think you didn't like me!"
My tears were of pure humiliation. There I stood, naked, hands cuffed behind my back, a chain locked on one ankle while he carefully and lovingly gathered every silken strand of my hair into his fist and shook me gently to show who was boss. I'd had it for sure! My breasts heaved in indignation but he just admired them. "Come along, little slave girl."
I couldn't fight. My own hair had become as much my enemy as the handcuffs. I let him lead me to the bench, dreading the pain he would inflict far less than the shame and indignity of the whole silly business. I yearned for Naomi with an infinite longing.
"Down you go, Sukie."
Gerald aided my bend from the hips with appropriate tugs on my hair. With his free hand he buckled the main strap over my waist and pulled it tight. It was so easy for him I could have screamed.
"It's a super-duper deal." He enthused, standing back to admire my chagrined impotence. "You look cute with your toes just off the floor."
It was too much to hope he wouldn't notice the small round bolster and divine its purpose. When he had it well under my hips, my toes were further from the floor than ever. My bottom, gleamingly framed in steel, reared outrageously. Gerald used the strap over the top of my thighs to further emphasize its prominence. When he unlocked my handcuffs and the ankle chain I could wiggle everything but my bottom. I could flail my arms and my legs, but I couldn't reach a buckle. I was beautifully positioned to be punished.
"Any last words, Sukie?"
What was the use? I kept silent. The air was rent with a cruel whir and my world exploded in fierce pain.
I had underestimated Gerald. He was male and hit me harder than Naomi usually did. It was an awful blow that left me unashamed of the futile pounding of my fists upon the bench top or the frantic kicking of my legs against their pinioned thighs.
"Shouldn't you scream?" He sounded disappointed. He hit me again and I screamed enough for six. I realized with horror that extra pain was coming to me because of the Chastity Belt's compression of my flesh. My poor bottom was trebly vulnerable to the cane.
"Please don't." I sobbed. "Don't hit me again. I'll do anything you want."
He hit me again, a savage maleness of a blow to make me scream anew and long for my darling. Through the shock waves there came to me a voice from a wishful dream.
"Having a nightmare, Pet?"
I blinked open tired eyes and raised my bowed head against the protest of a stiff neck. It was a sun filled morning in which Naomi stood surveying me with amused concern. My arms went out to her but did not move. I was as tightly tied to the bedpost as the night before. The scald of the rope inside my puss was as brutal as Gerald's cane in my dream memory.
"Oh darling!"
"Gerald, wasn't it! The dear boy made a deep impression on you."
"How could you tell?"
"You were mumbling. You got a little sleep, eh? "I suppose so." I shook my head fuzzily. "Oh dar-Oh Mistress, it was awful!"
"That's better! The first 'darling' will cost you four more hours."
"No! Ohhhhh! Oh Mistress! Please? I'm in agony."
"A little, I expect. But your cunt looks perky enough."
"But I forgot! I'd been asleep. Besides, I need to pee."
My Mistress pretended to consider. She does this convincingly. Her serious eyes contemplating my delinquence make me tremble within the ropes. My Pussy burns and throbs against the cord it has been forced to accept within its lips.
"Tell you what," she decides brightly. "I'll set you free for the bath and breakfast, and then tie you again for the extra four hours."
I do not think it is a victory. But to be free for a little while, under any terms, is demandingly enticing. To have that vicious biting strand peeled from within my cunt will be an agonizing joy.
"Thank you, Mistress."
"No fuss? You'll stand against the post again for your second dose?"
"Yes, Mistress, I promise."
I will always do anything Naomi tells me, but it is part of our Code and ritual that we exchange these conditional compliances. Besides, she will keep me in some way secure, for her purpose. I have few decisions.
I do not know how nature contrives so acute a blend of pain and pleasure as is the loosening of my bonds, but it is so. I gasp and moan in both responses as the ropes fall away from my punished nakedness. In transcending joy my cunt yields up its penance of the night. My first freed hand seeks it in sympathy. My shoulders flame.
"Your marks are scrumptious, Pet. What a pity they'll fade." Naomi is delighted with me.
I do not stop to complain or to share her happiness with my bondage brands. The handcuffs I wear before me are less impediment to my speeding to the bath than my stiffened muscles. For an hour or so I am determined to be the happiest girl in the U.S.A. The happiest slave.
"Gerald was a young bastard, I'll admit," Naomi mused over breakfast. "He surprised me. I didn't think he had it in him to be that cruel to a girl." She twinkled at me questioningly. "Think he'd have been easier to live with if you'd not been wearing the belt? You know, repressed sex drive?"
Gerald's a natural demon, darling. Don't ever give me to him again."
"I'll use him as a treat to keep you in line. Looking forward to after breakfast, Pet?"
"You know I'm not." I tinkled my handcuffs fretfully. "Darling, please don't tie the awful rope in my puss again."
"But the effect's delightful!"
"It's torture, it really isn't part of being tied up so I can't move. It's a punishment all by itself."
"How'd you like to wear it when we go shopping?"
"Naomi, I can't! You know I can't. How could I walk with that gnawing at me between my legs?"
"We can find out, Pet. The thought intrigues me."
I am sure it does! Everything about me intrigues my Mistress. Every little moan or squeal of pain or joy delights. For the rest of this prelude to my four hours she adumbrates atrocities to make me shiver. With pulsing puss I sit enraptured through our breakfast. When it is done we spend the love lost through my punished night.
I am quite incorrigible, joyously lost in enslavement. When the time comes I stand passive against the bedpost to be bound. I do not mind. The rope slips easily within me where Naomi's tongue has been, and tugs tight and tight and tight!
I am fulfilled.
CHAPTER THREE - THE CORSET
"I've brought you the loveliest present, Sukie dear."
Auntie Dee-Dee makes the announcement with all the abandoned panache of one who, in bestowing a gift, has ensured their own enjoyment of their largesse. She beams at Naomi and I in a bright expectancy of approval.
I express my thanks in a pleased, and largely simulated, suspense. Dee-Dee's gifts are not always the ones a girl would choose.
"I do think something absolutely different is so nice, and you've such a gorgeous figure!"
My Mistress and I provide appropriate sounds and expressions. Naomi will be pleased even though I may not. Dee-Dee is my aunt, but Naomi adores her. They conspire against me shamelessly.
"Those handcuffs look sweet on you, Sukie darling. You wear them so well. We mustn't take them off."
My Aunt Dee-Dee knows. How she found out is a story for another day. But she is enraptured by possession of a slave girl niece. She would steal me from Naomi if she could. She enjoys me with the same zest with which she enjoys all of life: A busy, ageless, perky pigeon of a female who enjoys men socially, and adores Naomi and I whenever she can contrive an opportunity.
"For your birthday I must try and get a pair especially made for you, dear. I like a broader band. Something very feminine but wickedly secure. And I think a single link-or maybe two. I like your hands close."
I will get them. I can feel certain of that. Aunt Dee-Dee is very rich. Her favorite expenditures are for things by which my freedoms can be amusingly curtailed. Sometimes they are not amusing. I say a demure thank you and am annoyed with myself at an excitation between my thighs.
"Have you been whipped recently, dear?"
"Not for several days, Auntie."
"Good! We must wedge that in somewhere while I'm with you. I'm so pleased about the corset."
I perk. I am beginning to guess. I am sure Naomi already knows.
"I do think this generation misses a lot in rejecting the corset," Aunt Dee-Dee muses pensively. "It doesn't matter whether a girl needs one or not, but they add so much. One may strive for effects."
Dee-Dee wears a corset herself. It enhances the pouter pigeon effect and makes her difficult to assess. Her figure has a tendency to vary with each visit.
"Now?" Naomi asks hopefully.
"Why not, dear! I expect the special room is best, isn't it?" My Aunt beams love and happiness on us both. We march toward the presentation of my gift. Her next remark is to Naomi. "Is the dear child likely to be difficult?"
That means my 'lovely present' is a corset. My antipathy to corsets is known to all, especially any corset Aunt Dee-Dee is likely to buy.
"We won't give her a chance," my Mistress says firmly.
They position me in 'The Room' and join my ankles with another pair of handcuffs. No Victorian damsel about to be "fitted" was ever accorded such attention. I am tempted to struggle. My Aunt would love it.
"Shall we just raise her hands as she is, Auntie?" Naomi inquires.
"I do prefer the bar, dear. Her posture will be so much more natural. If we raise her on her toes the way she is the handcuffs will hurt her wrists."
Dee-Dee knows her mind. I find myself tingling. Few girls, naked or clothed, can ever be such a center of interest as I now am. I stand nakedly a'quiver, my handcuffs gleaming on wrist and ankle.
"So sensible to cuff her feet," Aunt Dee-Dee enthuses as Naomi frees my hands. My bottom is affectionately patted. "You're not going to be silly, are you Sukie?"
"No Auntie."
I do not sarcastically ask how silly a girl might be when her feet are locked together. Aunt Dee-Dee has a gift for keeping me in a dither between exasperation and a pouting puss. I am trembling and know I betray myself. I am also being adored.
"It's a beautiful pose, and so beneficial. I really think every girl should be put in it an hour a day."
I quench my feline urge to ask if Dee-Dee herself practices this worthy precept. Instead, I smile sweetly while each of I them strap one of my wrists. When My Mistress halts the whir of the motor I am standing on tip toe in about as exposed a nudity as any girl could be. I am truly grateful for the bar and the straps instead of handcuffs.
"She is almost too lovely to be real." My Aunt stands back and surveys me soulfully.
"What about the cuffs on her feet, Auntie?"
"Take them off, dear, they may be an impediment."
I don't like the sound of that one, and am not using my feet anyway, but can scarcely complain.
"And now for the big surprise!" Aunt Dee-Dee sounds ecstatic.
They use the bench designed to hold me when I am caned. On its flat surface they unroll the pregnant parcel to reveal my gift. They are obviously enraptured. I suspect I have been forgotten. I have become a useful facility on which this new treasure will achieve its destiny. My own view of it is not the best. I cannot get an inch closer than I am.
"I always carry her measurements, dear. There's a small concern in Munich who made it for me. They're terribly clever. When they do things like this I never can understand why they didn't win the war."
I am beginning to be intrigued. I am quite certain the small concern in Munich will win the battle about to be joined, and possibly others! My defeat will be total. I hate corsets, but still!...
"Every inch of it can be tensioned with these ingenious screw effects, and there's a key."
When they have enjoyed it to the full I am vouchsafed a better view of what I am now sure comes closer to a punishment than a present. It is a breathtaking array of exquisite ingenuities to confine and to compress. For a moment Aunt Dee-Dee takes on the guise of Torquemada. Fretfully I consider taking a few deep breaths. In this masterpiece of Munich I may not be able to.
"It's so beautifully feminine, and yet there's steel. They put it on one of their staff-just to show me. I was never so amazed-the poor girl!"
I am not comforted. I watch the approach of my nemesis with only a simulated enthusiasm. Simulation is an essential part of being Aunt Dee-Dee's niece. Fastened and standing as I am I become its natural subject.
"I think I can remember everything," my Aunt muses happily. "But it's quite tight, even at the start. I expect I'll need your help, Naomi."
She does indeed! I am clutched, sheathed, encased. There are fastenings I cannot see, clips, hooks, laces, all minute.
Energetically, they compress me, using hands and fingers and knees in their labour of love.
"The little darling's excited, can't you smell her!"
I blush, Naomi snickers. There are times when Dee-Dee is a bit much. But she is also correct. I exude musk in response to this ultra feminine attention. I wonder about that model in Munich! We girls don't do it on purpose.
"It's beginning to take shape. When we're finished it will be sleek enough to replace her skin. Those Germans are so clever."
It goes beyond cleverness into positive genius. Their unity of purpose has already shortened each breath I take. I look down at what I am allowed to see and behold amazing blends of metals, textiles, rubber, latex and strange plastics. So complex a structure should have bulk but this has none. It has already reduced my waist to bare existence, and lifted my breasts in a manner they do not need. But I sense this as only a beginning.
"It's much too tight, Auntie," I venture timidly.
"Nonsense! I should have got you one long ago. Besides, we're not finished."
I lapse into silence. I have become a small girl being dealt with by her betters. I have nothing more to say. Another thank you would be insincere, another complaint might earn me the cane. My lovely present leaves my bottom conveniently bare.
"It has so many individual adjustments."
My Aunt and I are face to face. Her fingers are busy with the funny key affair. The stuff half covering my breasts tightens so that my nipple pops through a prepared orifice. It has the sensation as of a finger and thumb gently holding. I try not to gasp.
They both use the funny key. I deduce it tightens worm screws hidden within the fabrics. My armour tightens upon me... here, there, and somewhere else. Wherever a bit of slack or a wrinkle appears they make a few turns and my encasement becomes smooth. This slow inexorable compression from my hips to my breasts frightens me.
"Please, oh please! It is too tight. Really it is!"
"She's so sweet."
"She pleads beautifully."
"You mustn't baby her, Naomi."
They walk around my stretched and confined nakedness, their eyes alert for an excuse to screw a little bit of me up tighter still. Their happiness with me is so great I feel I should wear the damn corset just to please them. I don't matter. After all, I'm only a slave girl.
"There's a variety of crotch straps, dear."
There would be! The one they now use has the effect of sandpaper on a raw wound. I moan enchantingly and understand why my feet were freed. They try them all, one by one. Their effect on my puss and I ranges from the unbearable to the screamingly awful. None are kind.
"The garters are optional too, for when she wears nylons." Auntie pauses briefly and then serves up the piece de resistance, "Of course there's some punishment features for when she's been naughty." She says it as though expecting us both to cheer.
"Oh, Auntie, you're wonderful!" Naomi is genuinely awed. "Could we try those another time?" I ask wanely. "Look, Naomi, you see these small flat strips of steel, there's one on her waist and one under each breast. Flip one over."
I yelp in sudden shock and dismay. Naomi has chosen my waist, and it is suddenly circled by a thousand needles. I tug at my strapped wrists and kick an ineffectual foot. "No, don't... don't... Oh stop it! Ohhhh! Please!"
"It makes an excellent control, dear. Or, as I said, if she's been bad... "
The pain goes as suddenly as it came. Naomi has reversed the strip. I look from one to the other reproachfully. "That was awful!"
"Try one of her breasts, dear."
I actually try evasion as Naomi's fingers approach. But between my strapped wrists and the corset I can't even manage a good wriggle. Agony lances in a neat half circle beneath my left breast. I repeat my pained importunities until my Mistress thoughtfully reverses the control. I subside gaspingly. "Oh please! I will be good, I promise."
"You see! She responds charmingly," Aunt Dee-Dee says proudly.
I am sure I do. Wouldn't any girl! Though I'm not sure about the charming. If my corset would let me I'd be panting.
"You can use the key for this one, dear."
I had felt the 'whatever it was' enter my navel when they'd positioned my lovely present. I'd supposed it was some sort of anchoring device. It had felt funny, the way things do in your navel, but it hadn't hurt. Now it came to life. As darling Naomi turns the key it starts to blossom and burrow. I don't know how else to describe it. At first, just the strangest feeling making me long to thrust it away like an offensive beetle, then the pain! It seemed to open up like petals and move in with a wretched little point. Whoever heard of a girl being impaled in her navel!
"I can't stand it! Oh, darling, stop... stop!"
"This one's quite flexible, dear. I expect we'll be able to tell when it's gone far enough. Keep turning."
I screamed lustily. It was my only defense.
"She did that on purpose. Don't stop."
"I can't bear it! Ohhhh! Do stop... do!"
"What a felicity the dear girl has for torture! A little more, Naomi."
This time my scream was exquisitely authentic.
"There, that's perfect! Really, Sukie, I don't know how your Mistress can stand the strain. If I had you I'd have to change panties ten times a day."
"I do not care about my Aunt's panties. I want to get rid of the small beast gnawing at my navel. I look at my darling and plead. "Take it out... stop it... kill it! Oh... oh... oh!"
"She doesn't like it," Naomi comments absurdly.
You wouldn't either!" I tell her accusingly, trying ineffectually to squirm. "Take it out of me! Please! Right now."
"I was impressed by its effect upon the model," Dee-Dee says conversationally. "It's fully living up to my expectations." She cups my pussy with a small exploring hand. "Oh beautiful... beautiful!"
"She hasn't really been naughty?" Naomi offers guiltily. "You see, you are too kind with her," my aunt chides. "Now, if I had the little minx... "
"I'm going to cry-it's terrible-"
"How too, too sweet! The dear child should be prosecuted for cruelty to cunts. Her effect on me is... well... "
"I don't like this at all," I tender tearfully. "I'm sure it's making a hole. Ohhhhhhh!"
"It just feels like that, Sukie. But please cry." It is easy to obey. I am still whimpering when the key renders impotent the biting beast at my middle. The two adoring smiles make it difficult to say what I would like to, there is also prudence!
"I'm afraid that all the special features," Dee-Dee sounds genuinely regretful. "But you can vary the cruppers as you please. It's really extraordinarily versatile. I'd suggest a day in it each week for her."
"It's quite wonderful," my Mistress breathes. "Thank you, Auntie."
"You can let her loose now. You'll find she'll be beautifully obedient with that corset on. Let's go up to her room and the mirror."
Auntie is right. When my hands fall to my sides I have no thought of argument or contention. I feel myself, wonderingly. I am held stiff as a board. Rigid!
"The nice thing is, you can't get it off, darling. Only the key!"
It is hard to believe what I see in the big mirror. I hate it but this monster from Munich is gorgeous on me. Beautiful, pussy pulsing, sensational! I find myself preening and turning this way and that. The incredible thing is that it has become a part of me as though painted on my flesh.
"You'll have to help her dress, dear. We've plenty of time for that bit of shopping. Then dinner at Mateo's, and I've tickets for the new play... I've forgotten its name. Choose your own crotch strap for her pussy."
I freeze. It is just not possible! Yet Auntie says it as though I am to be overjoyed. I am sure Naomi is. My shock amuses her.
"I can't possibly go anywhere in this!"
"And why not, Sukie dear!"
"Well... " I gesture helplessly, "it's far too tight. I can hardly move. I'll look funny."
"Nonsense! You are always the most beautiful female present. Your corset adds a new dimension. Don't you like it, dear?"
How can I lie! She sounds so hurt. Perhaps I do like it a little bit! I lie gushingly. "Oh, it's scrumptious, Auntie! Really!"
"Good. You and Naomi can decide what you'll wear. I want garters and nylons and something svelte that won't spoil those lovely lines."
"But I can't possible walk around with one of those awful things between my legs!" I am now totally sincere.
"Don't be tiresome, Sukie."
"No girl can walk in one of those! They're absolute devils."
"Do yon have a cane handy, Naomi?"
"Couldn't you use a piece of rope? That's bad enough," I falter.
"Don't be ridiculous! With-that corset rope would be an obscenity. I'm sure Naomi will be satisfied with one of the milder cruppers."
"There aren't any mild ones."
"Must we take her back to "the room," Naomi dear, or are there facilities here?"
There are facilities in every room in the place, and Auntie knows it. My wrists are fastened to the bedpost, a drawer yields one of the type of canes I enjoy least. I stand, a stiff and tearful sacrifice to my Aunt's irritation. I am positive the corset causes my bottom to bulge so that the cane will hurt more than usual.
"What exquisite curves! And the last marks have almost faded!" Auntie taps the twin subjects of her approval gently with the cane.
"I'm sorry, Aunt Dee-Dee," I say abjectly. "I'll try."
"I am sure you will, dear. But you have earned this small attention I am about to enjoy."
At least she's honest. Aunt Dee-Dee will enjoy caning my bottom immensely. Once again I know that feeling of suffering in a worthy cause. If a girl can bestow such happiness with pain... I am annoyed with myself. Once it starts I will not feel so noble!
"Please forgive me, Auntie?"
"You are a sly little fox. I'm inclined to give you extra."
"But, Auntie dear, those straps over my pussy are so-" The cane slices my complaint in two as it slices my behind. I am accustomed to the pain of canes but it is still startling and awful. My darling Aunt knows how to do it. I yelp and kick.
"I hope you felt that properly?"
"Yes, Auntie, thank you." At such times it is best to be polite.
"See if this one inclines you to obedience."
It does! While my poor bottom is consumed by fire I am ready to obey anything. The strap between my legs seems a mere trifle.
"Oh yes, Auntie, it does, it does! Oh, thank you!"
"That's better. Want another?"
"No, thank you, Auntie, there's no need."
"That's for me to say, young woman." She cuts me fearfully across the tops of my thighs. I scream.
"That's only the third," she admonishes.
I wonder how many I'm to have. It is awful not knowing, and I dare not ask. A cane on a girl's bottom can be very terrible. I cast my bread upon the waters: "Thank you, Auntie. You're hurting me scrumptiously."
"Humph!" I cannot tell if she is mollified.
The next stroke makes me cry. The corset is making the cane hurt me more, I know it is! And Auntie is hitting me very hard indeed-she always does! I suppose it's because she doesn't get all that many chances. When I am loaned to her for a week-end her blows are lighter. Right now I don't even try to stifle a genuine howl.
Her response is instant. She feels my cunt. "Look at that, Naomi!" She extends a wet palm for inspection. "The sweet thing's enjoying every stroke."
I long to cry a denial, but dare not. Why, oh why must my puss always betray me! A Mistress has only to feel it to disprove my avowals. I lapse into a very hurt silence and tug sulkily at the clamps on my wrists.
"Can't very well stop at a mere four," Auntie suggests cheerfully.
I give number five its full vocal tribute as my wrists twist and my sheathed torso strains. Gaspingly, I manage to pay my dues.
"Oh thank you, Auntie, you're so good to me!"
I think I have behaved very well under the cane. Aunt Dee-Dee evidently thinks so too-or perhaps she does not want to weaken me before my coming ordeal. At any rate she lays aside the cane.
"Have you something to ask us, Sukie?"
Talk about a pound of flesh! She wants it all. But pain has made me humble. Maybe that's what pain is for.
"Please punish my pussy with whatever crupper will hurt me most," I plead without guile.
"The cane cures everything," Aunt Dee-Dee says sententiously. "Naomi dear, she is yours."
My Darling deals with my tears and sniffles. "Silly girl," she chides. "You asked for that."
I suppose she's right. But my bottom is reproof enough. It too is annoyed with me and throbs scaldingly to tell me so. I am absurdly meek as I help with nylons and garters. My corset will not let me bend as I would wish.
"Such perfect legs!" My Aunt sighs in envy.
I separate them. The time has come! The crotch strap slips into its appointed place. My darling has not chosen the worst of them.
"That's a good one," Dee-Dee approves. "Novel effect. Don't suppose it will prevent a pee."
Above my pussy it melds into metal that splits into a gleaming frame to imprison my labia, so that as the strap is tightened between my legs the lips of my puss pout more and more from between the shining steel. It does not clamp them together, the pressure is inward on either side. Nor am I pierced! I am inclined to believe my Aunt's prediction of prowess in the toilet may be true. But it hurts! I will hate walking.
"That dress is good, dear." Dee-Dee is pleased with Naomi's choice of what will cover the instrument of torture they have locked upon me. "With the zipper where it is you can easily slip in a hand to activate those cute controls."
Cute controls! The thought dissolves me. If they do that to me in public I will disgrace us all. My Aunt reads my thoughts.
"No, you won't," she chuckles. "A girl will put up with anything rather than seem an ass in public, especially if there's men around."
"Don't be mean to me, Auntie. I'm frightened."
"Would a few more across your bottom help, dear? I am sure Naomi can hoist up your skirt."
"I'm sorry, Auntie. Forgive me. I'm going to love every minute."
"Little minx. You don't mean a word of it. I could cane you all day. Come along." , All of it is awful. As I walk I throb everywhere with female awareness. My crotch hurts, but my puss perks. I can anticipate embarrassment down below. My caned bottom sways outrageously from side to side as I progress. I must surely look as though I am doing it on purpose, an absurd caricature of a harlot's hustle. "You'll be ashamed of me," I tell them tearfully. "But I can't help it."
"Our cunts are wet with pride," Dee-Dee assures me. "How's your tits?"
I am increasingly aware of them. They are working up to a torture all their own. I now divine the intent of the small orifices through which they bulge in hard protrusions against the fabric of my dress. Not only do they advertise themselves to every eye, but they chafe against the cloth. We have not gone far but I am already aroused. No matter how I try I cannot nullify or stop the friction.
"I'm going to have an orgasm," I warn.
"Can't you wait until we get in the taxi, dear?"
"I'll try. But... there's bound to be others."
"What a lucky girl you are!"
"Oh Auntie, it's going to be awful. You know how I explode. I'll be an absolute disgrace."
"We shall enjoy every spasm, Sukie Our hearts are with you."
Clothed, I have never felt so naked. Free. I have never been so aware of being bound. The wriggling motions of entering the taxi are all my nipples need. I flower into a bursting climax on the seat. I stifle my moans but not my gasp. Fortunately, there is a good deal of traffic noise. Naomi massages my nips to give me full enjoyment. It is quite a production. I wonder how blase a taxi driver can get.
I sit very still and manage to minimize sensations. My puss refuses to be ignored but stays neutral. My nipples rest and confidently await their second test. I look woefully at my companions and feel ashamed of myself.
"That was quite delightful, Sukie. I enjoyed it more than one of my own.
She means it! I am sure she does. Each of them are going to titillate their day anticipating my next climax, they will watch for signs.
"Please take me home." I am a sorry little girl.
"Now, now, darling. You know perfectly well you're going to love every moment. Compose yourself. Everybody isn't looking at you."
"But I've still got on this awful corset!"
"What did you say, Sukie?"
My heart plummets. I will be whipped for sure. Why can I never curb my tongue!
"Oh Auntie, I didn't mean that. I'm sorry. It's a really super corset and I love it-it just takes getting used to. Oh please!"
"Mmmmm! If we were home I'd have Naomi raise your dress. But we can't go through the afternoon sentencing you to whippings. Just hold still a moment."
I freeze in horror as my zipper zips, the hand inserts, and my right breast flames into agony. I had forgotten my present's versatility. The zipper closes up again with a fearful finality. I sit, trying not to whimper, and wondering if my concupiscence will be curbed.
"A wonderful discipline, Sukie dear."
"Thank you, Auntie."
"You are going to bear it with fortitude?"
"I'll try, I really will. It's awful."
"That is an expression you use too much, dear."
"I don't know any better ones. Oh, Auntie Dee-Dee, please forgive me. Don't leave these spikes in me too long."
"They are not spikes, dear," Dee-Dee gently reproves. "I was thinking of an hour. The time will soon pass."
I bottle my wail of agony. An hour can be a mere nothing or it can be forever. Suppose she had said two-or three! A slave girl must try and keep perspective. If there is something to be grateful for she had better be grateful.
"Yes, Aunt Dee-Dee. Thank you." I hope my tone is right.
"You really should give me some credit, Auntie," Naomi points out. "The little darling is beautifully trained."
They discuss my merits and shortcomings with a shameful frankness. I concentrate on sitting still. I now have four urgent reasons: My puss, two nipples and one breast. The less I move the better for us all. The conversation makes me thankful for the glass barrier between us and the driver.
"Girls of Sukie's age should be whipped regularly, dear."
Poor darling Naomi, she is on the defensive! "She does get punished quite a lot, Auntie."
"Of course she does, dear! I was thinking more of you?"
"Of me!" Naomi is groping.
"Yes, dear. Wouldn't it be nice if I came once a week and gave you a sound thrashing? Or you could come to my place?"
"But, Auntie, why? I'm not a slave like Sukie." . "No, dear, but you are a girl. You're both quite young. I do think a weekly whipping would give you perspective."
"It would spoil my image."
"That's a rather glib answer, Naomi. Are you sure it's not just an excuse?"
"Auntie, you're embarrassing me-she's listening."
Aunt Dee-Dee sighed. "I have always regretted how little I was whipped when I was young. No one wants to whip me now."
"You actually want to be whipped, Auntie!"
"It's a bit late in life for me, dear. If only I'd known! There was that nice Doctor Humbolt, and that charming man about the Insurance. They both asked me. I turned them down. Pure ignorance! I could weep!" Aunt Dee-Dee exhaled a hearty sigh of pure dolor. "It's too late for me, Naomi dear, but it's not too late for you."
If it was not for my several distresses I would be enjoying my Mistress's squirms. I expect I am enjoying them a little anyway. When hot on a trail my aunt is hard to divert. A virgin bottom is, to her, what the New World was to Columbus. She wishes to leave her mark.
"Sukie would never respect me again," Naomi declares firmly.
"The dear child need-never know."
"She's not that much of a child! Besides, she'd see the marks."
Aunt Dee-Dee sighed heavily. "You'll regret it later on, but I can see your point. Tell me, dear, have you ever been fucked-by a man, I mean?"
My darling meets this shocker more easily. "Yes. I didn't think much of it. Ugh!"
"I tried it too, dear, as an interesting experiment. It seemed to me a waste of time. But Sukie likes to have men push those horrid things into her-I know she does. I'm so thankful you're curing her of the awful habit. Oh, darling, we're there!"
I am like a soldier who has fought a battle and must now meet the enemy again. Getting out of the cab hurts so much I don't care who sees my grimace. My libido fights a war of its own between pain and sexual arousal. For the moment the tussle is tied. My punished breast throbs with me and my companions into the store.
"Let's buy .Sukie a dress."
I do not want a dress. But if Aunt Dee-Dee says I should have a dress I will get one. I sense a current. We make an extensive search, but I have a feeling we are not looking for a dress at all but something else. I watch the clock, surely the hour of my breast's travail must pass! On the sixtieth minute Dee-Dee finds both a dress and a salesperson. The latter is an anxious young woman obviously new to her work; she regards my Aunt in awe.
We are all neatly disposed for Aunt Dee-Dee's enjoyment of her little play. She accompanies me into the fitting room and unsnaps the torture of my breast. I kiss her in most abject gratitude. It is premature.
"Carry on, dear." She slips out through the curtain.
I stand in my corset, puzzling. It will be difficult to either get into my new dress or my old. I long for help. Help comes immediately, but is not the help I want.
It is the young woman.
We gape. I reach for my old dress to cover my puss, but it's a bit late so I don't bother. Dee-Dee and Naomi will be hugging themselves in laughter. The girl's eyes are wide in disbelief.
"You're beautiful!"-Her eyes are suddenly shining and she becomes beautiful too. "Where did you buy it?"
"The corset?" I try and sound offhand. "My Aunt bought it in Germany."
"It's wonderful. Did it cost the Earth?"
"I'm afraid so. Why? Do you want one?"
"Oh yes!" Her affirmative is a gasp of ecstasy.
"I don't really care for it," I admit casually. "I'd give it to you if I could get it off, but there's a key... a special key."
"I can see!" She is almost trembling with delight. "There's just no way." Her eyes lift to mine appealingly. "You're some sort of a prisoner, aren't you?"
"Sort of."
"But you don't want me to call the police or anything?"
"Good Heavens, no!"
She nods. Some confirmation has clicked. "And that... that thing over your pussy... it's so men can't touch you?"
I hadn't thought of it. I wondered what she'd think of my Chastity Belt. But she was right. Without getting my corset off no man was going to get inside Sukie. "That's right," I agreed, wondering where this conversation was leading us.
"That... that woman owns you?"
"Not the one you think-the young one."
"Don't you want to escape? You could. I'd help." She is breathless.
"All I want to do right now is get rid of this corset. But since I can't, how about helping me try on this dress? I'm finding it a little hard to do things."
"You poor dear! Does it hurt?"
"Yes. But don't feel badly. I'll live."
"Your nipples. They're sweet."
At that one I blush. Is she truly naive! With my arms raised I turn slowly around to give her a good look.
"The older woman," she says slowly, "she adores you, they both do. Do you think she'd like me?"
Light dawns. "You want to be a slave girl?"
She nods ecstatically. She is too breathless to speak.
"She'll whip you."
"I wouldn't mind. Really I wouldn't."
"Go and tell her so."
"Oh, I couldn't possibly."
Away from Aunt Dee-Dee's eye I feel pixieish. "Well then, go and ask her for the key. Tell her I want you to try on the corset."
Poor child! The temptation is too great. She disappears through the curtain.
When they return I am struggling ineffectually with a dress. Dee-Dee fixes me with a basilisk glare. "That will be twenty on your bottom with the cane tomorrow morning, dear," she announces sweetly.
Our youthful salesperson is enraptured. "Will she really?" Her expression is pure envy.
I am not too happy with myself. "She certainly will," I admit ruefully. In puerile humour I suggest. "Maybe you'd like to take them for me?"
"Oh, I will! I will!" She bobs up and down in glee.
My aunt softens. She surveys my savior with interest. "What's your name?"
"It's Poppy. Oh, I'm so excited!"
"And you want twenty cuts across your bottom with a cane?"
"Yes, please."
"Are you for real?"
"Yes... yes! Can't you tell!"
"Damn, I think you are."
They exchange names, addresses and phone numbers. Poppy is transformed. She promises to be punctual at eleven A.M. She will bring her things and will not expect to ever be free again.
"You're crazy," I warn. "It hurts something awful."
"Shut up, Sukie. You're in enough trouble already. Want me to flip a clip?"
I shut up. Will I get that twenty or will she! I do not know. Probably overnight she will come to her senses. Quite probably we will both be whipped.
"Well, that's that," says my Aunt briskly. "Get that dress on her quick. We'll buy the new one."
Poppy flees on her errand, she has wings. I am led from the compartment. "You know what I should do to you," my Aunt says sternly.
I do know. I am suddenly alone and scared. I look to Naomi who has been an amused spectator. She smiles reassuringly and sets my world to rights. After all, it is she to whom I am slave. We walk away with out parcel.
CHAPTER FOUR - PAIN
Mateo's is opulent. Aunt Dee-Dee is in her element. She has won a brief skirmish with the Maitre D' and reduced our waiter to humble submission. My darling an I have just returned from the powder room where, clutching Naomi desperately, I have had another corset induced orgasm. With the spikes under my breast neutralized, my puss and my nipples have returned to the fray rejuvenated. I am scared to move. We also confirmed that, confined as I am, it is possible to pee.
He sits alone, and studies me with cool appraisal. Our eyes have met and exchanged recognition of cunt and cock. I quiver. Naomi has intercepted, and kicks my ankle in warning. She also rubs a finger on my dress above one of the metal strips by which I can be reduced to gasps and moans, the wrong kind! Demurely, I rove my gaze from where it wants to be.
"I told you she loves men to shove those things into her. She's lusting after that chap at the small table by the column. The dear child's a seething sexpot."
My Aunt has missed no trick. I can hide nothing. My male admirer misses nothing either. He is placing the three of us in our proper slots.
"What can we do with this dear girl, Naomi? I've already sentenced her to twenty for tomorrow."
"We could raise it to forty, Auntie."
I quail. But I am sure my darling does not mean it. On the other hand! No saddened doe could give them more soulful glances of reproach than I now deliver.
"A pail or two of ice water would probably be best," Dee-Dee says with practical affection. "I'm always expecting to see smoke rising from between her legs."
"A-untie!"
"Don't you 'Auntie' me, you little witch. Every man in sight is drooling over you. Without you, half the nation's laundries would have to close."
"Sukie has to be lived up to," Naomi extenuates. "Beautiful girls have always been a problem to men, she's a problem to us. But she's the loveliest fun there is. Keeping her libido under control is a challenge."
"You should whip her more frequently. She's so damned resilient! The way she bounces back from punishments-"
"May I join you, Ladies?"
The rich, male voice vibrates my puss. I look up at the interruption of my Aunt's discourse on my corporal correction. It is the man from the small table. He is quietly smiling.
"Please do," I invite instantly.
"No," Aunt Dee-Dee says firmly.
"Go away, she's not for sale," Naomi says dangerously.
"Thank you." He seats himself in the fourth chair and radiates maleness. "I've been watching you."
"So we noticed. Will you leave quietly, or must we get help?"
The barrage of hostility should devastate. He absorbs it with immense goodwill. Smiling all round, he focuses on me. "You're under some sort of restraint, aren't you?"
My blush is his answer.
"Do you need help? The police?"
Three hearty negatives assail him in unison. Mine is the most vehement. I am both excited and guilty. Perhaps it is my fault he is here! I dare not meet my darling's eyes. Dee-Dee is furious, my bottom is in for a bad day.
"Perhaps you had better leave," I essay timidly. "They don't like you."
"But you do?"
I keep a discreet silence. He is nice.
"It's B and D, isn't it?" His voice is triumphant. The last tumbler has fallen into place.
The silence is more than pregnant. It will conceive quadruplets of wrath. My bottom will not have skin enough for all its stripes. This glorious Male has used a term we abhor. With Aunt Dee-Dee present any reference to Bondage & Discipline is under interdict for sure.
"Sorry! That offends you, doesn't it. Don't care for it myself, but the trade has to call it something."
Our voiceless lack of response shatters and dissolves against the wall of his bonhomie.
"If you do take action to have me thrown out, I'll lay a charge that you're holding little brighteyes here under duress." He chuckles cheerfully. "I'll lay odds the cops would be astounded by what's under her dress."
He has scored heavily and knows it. He is beautifully masterful. My pussy is periling like crazy. I sit, scarcely daring to breathe. How awful to have an orgasm here at the table while he watches! My nipples must have grown at least a quarter inch while he's looked at them. He orders repeats on our cocktails with complete aplomb. I welcome the delay, I could not possibly eat with him beside me, and with my waist compressed to almost nothing I am not sure I can eat at all.
"What do you want?" Naomi demands dourly.
"Brighteyes."
"You can't have her."
"Well then, how about you? You won't project as well as she does, but at least you're in the scene. You've no idea how difficult it is to get models who reach out and zap the customers."
"I am not for sale, either. Please call the police. After they have checked Miss Steven's corset they can take you away with them."
Masculinity pauses. His commercial taint deflates me while his sharp eyes flit between us. "A corset, eh! It explains the waist. But there's something else. She's scared of pain-I know the look. She dare not move."
"She will not dance Swan Lake for you, young man. Leave." Aunt Dee-Dee is as frigid as they come.
Our intruder's tone becomes conversational. "Knew a case once where the owner, a woman like yourself, controlled her pretty maiden by a steel band. It went round the little dear's tummy and could be tightened pretty drastically. Uncomfortable protrusions could be arranged as desired. I suppose the control was largely psychological, but it worked."
"How interesting! Please go."
"Bet you there's something you can push or pull to put little Brighteyes, here, in agony?" His smile is smug.
I am a bit hurt his interest in me is partly commercial. He would be nice to touch. My pussy would like him to do lovely male things to her. But this is just dreaming. I am a bad girl! But I do not want them to be too unkind to him, and I would also like to reduce the number of my stripes accumulating in Aunt Dee-Dee's mind. I plunge.
"Don't try and be so clever." I give him my most radiantly reassuring smile. "You're absolutely right, of course. But what of it? There's small spikes that penetrate me at the flip of a switch. It's lovely!"
His gaze roves over us. I have left him nowhere to go. "You have to say that, don't you?" he asks me soberly.
"No, I don't! If you'll finish your drink I'll walk with you to the door, or even out in the street. Then I'll return to this table of my own free will."
He nods in somber recognition of defeat. I put my hand gently on his arm and console. "I'm terribly sorry, but we're all... well, quite wealthy. We don't need money."
He is still the decisive Male. He finishes his drink and places his card upon the table. "Thank you, ladies." He shakes his head regretfully. "I could have loved you all." He pays tribute to my Aunt with a small courtly bow, then goes his way. He leaves a vacuum.
In silence, Naomi and I leave the floor to Dee-Dee. She accepts it with a sigh. "Sukie, you're not safe to take out in public. You're a menace."
I take it as flattery, and push my luck. "Have I earned a little remission?" I ask tremulously.
"I'll think about it," says my Aunt.
I'm not sure whether I am forgiven or not. But, after all, I am only a slave girl. I pick up the card and read: "Did you buy your "DID" today?"
"Damsels in Distress." (Published monthly) Reese. J. Cottrell.
We pass the card around and make our comments. Aunt Dee-Dee slips it in her bag. I am curious, but J do not ask her why.
I am grateful to the theatre. It will take my mind off Reese Cottrell. I am absurdly susceptible to his type, and inclined to agree with Dee-Dee that I should not be allowed in public. Safe with my Mistress I am happy. Attractive men disturb me and send my puss into a disgraceful dither. I toy, quite seriously, with the idea of Naomi keeping me forever in a cage-except at nights, of course, when I would sleep with my ankle chained to her bed. I may ask her what she thinks of the notion... perhaps!
I wish it was Naomi who signals me to the powder room. But it is Aunt Dee-Dee, and there is a look in her eye I do not like. I wish my Aunt would go home and leave me alone with my Mistress. She is altogether too possessive of me. She had a hunger... there are times when I so yearn for my darling I could cry. Such a time is now. I want to rub my naked breasts on hers and to feel her lips... everywhere. Between me and my Love is Aunt Dee-Dee and her disciplines and her need. I know it best to accept what she will do to me with good grace. In any case, I cannot escape. A stranger might think I could, but I cannot, I cannot... ever! I go to the powder room with a pleased expectant smile. It is my gallows.
"It will give you something to occupy your mind, dear."
I quail at sight of the wicked key. I do not know whether to be sad or glad for the privacy she has contrived for my torture. "But, Auntie, the Play! Aren't I supposed?"
"It is probably nonsense, dear. They usually are. But I am sure it will give you a little diversion from your punishment."
"Am I to be punished, Auntie?"
"Of course! You know you deserve it."
With Dee-Dee I will be punished whether I deserve it or not. She adores my agony. But I suppose tonight I do deserve something on account of Mr. Cottrell. I suppose I do.
"Unzip, and slip the dress down to your hips, dear. It fits you like a glove. It's the only way I can get at you."
She makes it sound as though she wants to eat me. I suspect she does. But there are limitations to the latitudes of powder rooms. I do as I am told. I do not need a premonition. I have guessed.
"I'm not sure if I can bear it, Auntie," I falter.
"You can bear anything, dear. I have never seen a child more addicted to pain."
"I'm not a child!"
"That's your trouble. You know better, but you're a scandalous young woman."
"Don't you like me, Auntie?"
"I adore you, and you know it! Come now, turn to the light."
I have always wondered about people walking to the gallows and the headsman's block and sauntering casually into torture chambers. And there are those criminal types on T.V. who offer themselves to be handcuffed. It seems so damn un-likely. Why don't they punch someone in the eye and run! I've always thought that's what I'd do. But here I am doing the same thing! Is it all in the mind or something! For very sure I am not going to punch my Aunt anywhere, nor will I flee. The thought is absurd. Where will I flee to?
Naomi once called me a palpitating package of eroticism, and I suppose I am. In fact, I'm very glad I am. It's lovely. I am sure it enables me to suffer willingly and sometimes with joy. But there are times when I wish most sincerely to be forgiven, to have a punishment commutated, to weep my tears of repentance and be led to the bedroom or the cage. This is one of those times. I watch Auntie and her key in trepidation. My navel is to be the focal point of her displeasure.
"I want no silliness, dear. Stand quite still and keep quiet."
"I'm not sure I can, Auntie."
"You can and will, child. Or do you prefer these?"
She is a nimble little woman. With three flashing flips she activates the needles at my waist and beneath both my breasts. I moan and clutch at the wall for support, I dare not even writhe.
"A little matter of obedience, dear?"
"Yes, oh yes! I will... " I would promise anything.
The cruelty goes as quickly as it came. Aunt Dee-Dee beams lovingly and inserts the key in my middle as though I am a doll about to be wound up I steel myself gaspingly.
"The nice thing about this, Sukie, is that it's steady. You'll be able to enjoy the pain until we get home."
Enjoy! I wonder if she believes I will enjoy-or if I actually do! Sometimes I am a mystery to myself. I pluck up the courage to let my dress hand and clasp my hands behind my neck. Surely, for what she intends to do to me, this is obedience enough!
Dee-Dee kisses me, enraptured. "So sweet... so very sweet!" She slowly turns the key.
I can only hope the broken pulse of my pained breathing carries a credible message as the beastly thing within my navel reaches out its tentacles of agony. It is such an awful, strange, squeamish feeling. If only it was somewhere else but inside my navel! Whoever heard of a girl being punished in her umbilicus!
"I'm so pleased with this corset, dear. We must use it often."
I make sad sounds of response. My concerns are concentrated on my tummy. The beastly beetle burrows. I long to howl and clutch. The key turns gently.
When it is done, I am positive I cannot leave the booth, I cannot walk, I cannot join the crowd. All I want to do is curl into a ball of misery and nurse the living wound that I must cherish within my flesh. Before the evening is over I will die.
Aunt Dee-Dee bustles briskly as with a task well done. By the magic of her will my dress clothes me again and is fastened. Beneath it I throb and quiver against the encasement of my corset. My bag is placed in my hand and I am ushered back into the world. I do not know how I manage to reach the foyer but manage it I do. I walk in shame, certain that all must know.
When Naomi takes my arm we fuse. It is always so, her flesh and mine spark a current, our eyes adore. "Is it very bad, Sukie?"
I long to make them understand how bad it is. But all I contrive is to assure them I will most certainly cry all through the play.
"It does not matter, dear. No one will notice." Auntie has an answer for everything. "They'll just think you feel sorry for the actors."
A theatre is a prison. We sit in our seat as in a cell. The absorption of our neighbors with the stage isolates us utterly. Around us is a wall of unconcern and bars of diffidence unless, of course, we have B.O. or a halitosis or a cough. My symbolic incarceration is made doubly penal by Aunt Dee-Dee munching chocolates on one flank and Naomi holding my hand on the other. I cry softly and use my free hand to dry my tears. In the darkness it is busily employed. My belly burns without cessation. I could swear there is a small vicious rodent in there who doesn't like me.
Aunt Dee-Dee wants her pound of flesh. While lam wilting in thankfulness that the play is done she announces her wish for coffee and trifles at some damn Tea Shoppe which has earned her approval.
"Oh, please take me home." I have no pride left.
"Come Sukie, we shall all enjoy it."
"I won't! I'm in agony. Besides, there'll just be some man... and then I'll get punished some more."
"Don't be impertinent, dear."
I sit through Ye Olde Devon Tea Shoppe hoping my pain harrowed features will attract no attention and harden no pricks. But I suppose it's what's lower down that lubricates their genitals. My nipples and my wasp waist make us the cynosure of all eyes. I gain small comfort from the waiter pouring coffee in a customer's lap. I hope it cooks his cock! It is when we get home that true desolation descends.
"A delightful day, dears."
Naomi agrees. I keep a hopeful and quivering silence.
"And now for bed!" Dee-Dee had a penchant for cliches. "I suppose you're taking Sukie for the night?" Her voice is wistful. J "Yes, Auntie," Naomi giggles. "We may even sleep."
"You will chain her ankle, won't you! She should never be free."
"Of course, Auntie! I always do. If I forget, she reminds me."
"Such dear, sweet girls. I do love you both so much. What about the corset, dear?"
"Of course! I'll need the key. Sukie will be so glad to get out of it. Besides, she's still being punished at her middle."
"We must certainly end that for the dear child... " Aunt Dee-Dee's voice was suddenly vague. She made no move to end anything.
"Can I have the key please?"
"Oh, I'll do it, dear. Take off her dress."
Stripped down to corset, garters and nylons, I allow hope to rise. As Dee-Dee turns the key in reverse I could shed tears of joy and relief and kiss them both. It is a beautiful feeling. Now I just hurt between my legs.
"I expect it's time to take this off too. She's worn it remarkably well."
My Aunt unfastens and gently removes the crupper from my crotch. Once more I enter Paradise. I am prevented from the vast sigh of gladness I long to inhale only by the firm encasement of the corset on my lungs. My nipples peep prettily from their prisonment.
"Thank you. Oh, darlings, thank you!" I hug them both.
"May I have the key now, Auntie?" Naomi sounds apologetic. She brightens. "Or would you like to take the corset off her here?"
"Take it off?"
"Yes, it's bedtime."
"But why remove it?" Auntie sounds truly puzzled by so absurd a request. She beams at us both. "Remember, dear, all the trouble we took to put it on so perfectly."
I suppose Naomi and I had both harbored the awful suspicion. But now confronted with its open declaration I was frantic. "Oh no! Oh, Auntie, please... please, please! Don't keep me in this awful thing!"
"You've called it that before, Sukie. Be careful, you are already under sentence for the morning."
I knew only panic. The clutch of the corset had become claustrophobic. "Please, I can't bear it. I'll never sleep. Naomi, make her take it off. I hate it, I hate it!"
"Sukie!"
Dee-Dee's ejaculation of my name told me I'd done it again. There would be more punishments. But I did not care. I was in an absolute panic to get out of the beautiful thing sheathing me in implacable constriction.
"The darling's had sort of a trying day," Naomi ventured.
"Nonsense! She's scarcely been whipped at all. The corset should be regarded simply as figure training. As for her physical needs, and yours, she is perfectly well able to satisfy all of them exactly as she is. I have removed her crupper." She turned to me indignantly. "Don't be a cry baby, Sukie. Go to the bathroom and you'll feel more sensible."
Authority always wins-or perhaps it was the cry baby bit. I suddenly realized my blessedness. For the first time in hours and hours I did not hurt. In a sense I was a free girl. The corset had become a part of me and moved as I moved. I felt foolish and ashamed of my loss of control.
"Remember the morning, Sukie." Mr. Aunst's voice had a no-nonsense ring. "I am already compelled to consider other areas of your person besides your bottom. I cannot flay your seat beyond a point."
She was right! I could feel myself sobering. My corset began to feel like an old friend. My puss was purring in release. Why, oh why, was I sometimes so silly! I suppose because I am a slave . .'. and a girl. I kissed and hugged my Aunt in genuine affection and without any hope whatever of remission. Joyously I sped to the bathroom.
Naomi was waiting for me... naked! Naomi is more beautiful than I. She says this is not so, but to me she is. I could smell her musk half way across the room. We melt.
"Is it very awful, darling?" Her hands caress my sheath.
Strangely, I no longer know if it is awful. Some female alchemy has worked within me so that I am aware of beauty. I preen and pose before the mirror. Girls are ridiculous! Or, at least, slave girls are. Perhaps it is simply the cessation of agony within my navel and my crotch that makes this freedom seem exotic and desirable.
"You little so and so!" Naomi gets the message. "You're beginning to like it."
I pat my nicer protuberances. "I suppose it was kind of her to buy it for me."
"If it has that effect on you, Sukie, I'll keep it on you a week at a time. You're pure sexuality. This room positively reeks of your scent."
"I thought it was yours."
"Don't be saucy. Let's call it a blend. Coty would pay the world for it."
"He could get a dozen girls and a dozen corsets."
"None of them would be you. You exude the most exquisite perfume. The nice thing about you is there's more than one. When I whip you it's quite different, but still gorgeous."
"I love you, Naomi. Try and persuade Auntie to go home."
"Well, she certainly won't go tomorrow. She's a dedicated woman with a job to do." Naomi giggled. "She'll get a snootful of that other scent from you."
"She's going to whip me terribly, isn't she?"
"Fraid so, darling. Come and let me chain your ankle."
Happily, I lift my foot upon the bed.
CHAPTER FIVE - THE PUNISHED POPPY
Poppy is pathetically punctual. The poor child has probably been walking 'round the block. We are all quite cruel and pleasantly titillated at the thought of her eager virginity. Even I am able to keep my thoughts from my troubles. We giggle like girls and discuss her shamelessly, as we might an acquisition, while we wait. I have been told to keep out of sight during the greetings. They will use me to obtain the optimum in shock. I have been beautifully readied: I wear only the corset, garters and nylons. My wrists have been crossed at my back and bound there. The binding is unkindly tight and a work of art for our neophyte to admire.
I listen to the closing of the door and to the pleased sibilance of the exchanges, at first polite and hesitant, but gaining momentum. I do not try to free my hands as I usually do, I don't even want them free. I know I should be trembling and frightened at what is to be done to me personally, but instead I feel only a pleasant excitation. How hungry we all are for the innocence of girls! I wonder if Poppy knows herself a bait for lust.
I time it perfectly and make a Grand Entry. Proud, erect, and with a purpose I advance. Poppy is seated on the sofa in her best finery, but I do not meet her eyes. She is my audience. She is enraptured. I hear her gasp of wonder at sight of the erotic vision that is me. Gracefully, I sink to my knees before my Mistress and kiss her knees. Then rise and perform the same obeisance for my Aunt. They accept my homage with gracious pats on my bowed head. In my movements I make certain Poppy has a good view of my bound hands and time to digest the severity of my bond. She can also get a look at the marks of yesterday's cane on my bottom. The stripes are pitifully few compared with what awaits us both. This task performed, I kneel humbly to one side to await the pleasure of my Mistresses. Poppy's reaction is heartfelt.
"Oh, the poor darling!" And then, in awe: "She's so beautiful!"
I glow but make no sign. "Why are her hands tied?"
"She is a slave, dear."
The simple statement says nothing-or everything! All Poppy's words are breathless. "Does she try to escape?"
"Sometimes." The mystique must be maintained.
"And you punish her?"
"Constantly."
We all know our youthful guest to be in a seventh Heaven of her own. She glows and radiates her secret joy. We have opened a door to which she had no key. She finds it hard to say, but is determined to say it.
"Do you think that... that I could be... a slave-like her?"
"You already are, child."
Poppy hastily examines her wrists as though they may have become magically manacled. "You... you mean you'll... you'll take me?" Her voice" holds all the ecstasy of the world.
"We have already taken you, Poppy."
It is so hard for the poor girl; and why not! To travel so far in so short a time. Her lovely breasts are heaving as she glances from one to the other of us. "You mean-" She gulps and starts again. "You mean that if... if I ran for the door... you'd stop me?"
"Of course, dear. Why don't you try. Then you'll know."
She blushes sweetly. "Oh, I couldn't possibly."
"We are strong and quite skilled. You may ask Sukie."
She has longed to speak to me, so takes the opportunity. "Would they really?"
I return her appealing gaze with love. "Yes, dear, they would. I've never managed to escape. You won't manage it either."
"But you don't want to... not really?"
I twinkle back at her. "No more than you do."
We have fused whatever female bond it is that makes us slave: the mystical quality which sets us apart from other girls-we have it!
"Come here, child. Kneel before me."
As in a dream, Poppy obeys. She is eager and awkward but she will learn.
"Hold out your hands."
Poppy's breath can be heard around the room as Dee-Dee produces the handcuffs and locks them tight upon the girlish wrists. The novice slave holds her hands for all to see, tautening the single link, and gazing as at a miracle at the gleaming steel by which she is now captive.
"You may return to your seat, dear."
It is now, on the normalcy of the sofa and the intimacy of the sedate lounge, that incongruity strikes. Poppy does not know what to do with her chained hands. They fill her horizon. She believes they fill ours. The sweet thing is embarrassed. She tugs, and looks at us apologetically as though she's been naughty.
"They do feel funny."
"How's your pussy, darling?"
She flames. "How did you know-?" She breaks off in confusion.
The Mistresses laugh delightedly. It is permissible for me to smile.
"The perfect response, dear." Aunt Dee-Dee is radiantly approving. "You can wriggle out of the handcuffs if you wish-and if you can."
Poppy is startled. She essays a tug and a twist, and winces. She is mouth-wateringly naive. "I'm afraid I can't. Should I be able to?" She is throbbingly anxious to please.
We bestow our amusement on her with love. She is divine!
"We are going to strip you naked, Poppy."
The handcuffs are instantly real to her. She tries to clutch her breasts and discovers she can cover only one. She fingers the steel and looks at us doubtfully, seeking her cue. "You're only saying that?"
"Slave girls are always-naked. They are kept naked because it is so much easier to tie them and to punish-there's a psychological factor too. Sukie wears that corset as a punishment. She is usually nude."
She is trying not to pant. She has probably been thinking of nakedness through the night, it is implicit in what she seeks. Yet the first confrontation with it is not easy. I remember my own. Our breasts jut out a foot and our bush becomes a forest.
"Remove your shoes and nylons, Poppy."
It is a direct order, emotionally within tolerance. Poppy, with scarlet cheeks, begins her journey into slavery. It is her first task with chained hands. The shoes are easy, but with the nylons she has difficulty. Poor child! Poor lucky, lucky child!
Naomi positions the barefooted girl on the center of the rug. With swift sure motions she handcuffs the slender ankles together. Poppy has become moderately helpless. Her face shows it.
"You are going to lose your clothes, dear."
Poppy clinks her handcuffs. "But how... how can I?"
They will strip her impressively, tearing away her intimacies until she is bare. Treasured things will be torn and spoiled so that she will know her state, know she has no further need of them. I watch in a furious excitation of my own as it is done.
Poppy can move, but not much. She is fearful of falling as cloth is tugged and torn. She does not know what to do with her hands; obligingly she lifts them out of the way. She suffers her stripping in a wide-eyed silence more eloquent than words. When it is done she instantly covers her puss.
"Take your hands away from there, dear. It doesn't belong to you any more, it's ours."
She obeys, and reaches for her breasts but stops half way. They too will be forbidden. It is as good a place as any to hold her locked hands. She leaves them there.
First Dee-Dee, then Naomi make a big production of freeing her ankles and slapping her legs apart so that her pussy can be comfortably clasped and tested. The condition of their hands afterwards pleases everyone except Poppy. Poppy is ashamed of her gleaming secretion. I am glad they do not compel her to clean their hands with her tongue. She is so young and it is all so new.
"Yesterday, dear, you asked for punishment... "
She twists, still ashamed of herself. "Yes, yes I did. I feel a little silly now." Her eyes are wide.
"That's because you're bare. It does change things, doesn't it."
"Yes!" The word positively bursts from her lips. She is in complete agreement; she is changed. She is vulnerable.
"Twenty strokes with a cane across your bottom, I believe?"
"Yes... Yes, that's right."
"You will call me Mistress."
"Yes, Mistress. I knew I was going to be caned. I'm scared now, but I won't ask you not to."
"It would do you no good if you did. I would add another five."
Poppy gulps. To acquire a Mistress and a certainty of the cane all at once is indeed making dreams come true with a vengeance. She maintains a taut tug on her handcuffs. It is instinctive. "Thank you, Mistress." Her voice is tremulously sweet. My pussy flames, I am sure it is not alone.
"Very good, Poppy, you are doing wonderfully well. But before we proceed to your caning we have work to do." My Aunt spares me a disdainful glance. "This ill-mannered young woman is to be corrected."
Poppy is startled. "But I thought... I thought I was going to get what she'd been sentenced to? I offered."
"Quite true, but the foolish girl subsequently compounded her delinquency by repeated indiscretions which have earned her a most formidable collection of strokes. The cane will warm you both."
"It is not your fault, dear. Sukie! Tell Poppy why you are to be whipped."
"I was rude. I said bad things... and I enticed a man."
"You see! She knows she has done wrong. Sukie is very honest with her confessions. I hope you will be."
"Oh yes, Mistress."
"Ah! Then tell us why you are to be caned."
"Because I requested it, Mistress."
"Excellent! You are a delightful girl. I shall whip you often."
I could tell Poppy was having trouble sorting that one out. But she absorbed her future prospects bravely. "Thank you, Mistress."
"I think that since we have two bottoms and one back to attend to we may as well have lunch first. Naomi, see if Etta has things ready."
Etta is our part time maid. I suspect she has been called in to compound poor Poppy's devastation.
Three of us move to the dining room casually. Poppy does not know what to do with all her bare skin and handcuffs. She seats herself gingerly.
"You will soon become accustomed to doing things with chained hands and feet, dear. Just be careful at the start. There are punishments for clumsiness."
Poppy is doing a lot of gulping. She is startled almost out of her skin when Etta comes in with the soup. To be sitting at luncheon, naked and chained! And under the scrutiny of a servant! I know just how she feels. But she need not worry. Etta has become accustomed to my nudity, and is amused by the whole scene. She has perfected the simulation of looking at a naked girl without seeing her. Having survived that hurdle Poppy sees another one in my helplessness. Her eyes keep seeking the hands bound behind my back.
"Dear Sukie is sentenced to punishment. She will get no lunch," Aunt Dee-Dee explains kindly.
I do not bother to explain that the butterflies in my tummy have robbed me of appetite, or that my corset doesn't leave me much room in my inside anyway. I sit demurely, helplessly and drink whatever Naomi holds to my lips. I speak when spoken to, and try and look cheerfully expectant of good things to come.
"Well, should I be eating then?" Poppy is anxious to preserve protocol and seek no privilege. I think, too, she feels sorry for me.
"It is your first day, dear, we will make an exception. Besides, you are not being punished for a misdemeanor."
Poppy is relieved and eats-heartily. I suspect she finds our standard of living higher than she is accustomed to. She blushes whenever Etta comes near, and collects only a couple of extra strokes for sweeping a fork to the floor with her cuffs.
The time comes. My heart is thumping painfully. I adore some whippings from Naomi, but I will not adore the one I am about to get. We march majestically to my place of punishment. With kindly intent, my Aunt now locks Poppy's hands behind her back.
"Just in case you're tempted to do something silly, dear, while you watch dear Sukie receive her correction."
"Am I to watch?"
"Yes, dear. You are a very lucky girl. I want you to stand wherever you get the best view. With your hands fastened as they are you can't get into trouble. But remember, you must watch! I want no squeamishness, no turning of the back."
Naomi unties my hands. I rub my wealed wrists so that Poppy can get a good look at the wounds, and I smile brightly for her benefit. We don't want her scared out of her skin. It is very nice skin. Her taut breasts will bounce beautifully when whipped, and her bush is almost the equal of my own. How delicious her shame might be if we shaved it.
"Strap Sukie to the bench properly for her bottom," Aunt Dee-Dee directs. "I don't know any better position for the cane."
I drape myself deliciously upon the bench. A girl has to hoist herself with her hands to get her feet off the floor and her cunt properly placed on the bolster. I hope I do not seem clumsy to the watching girl. Languidly, I move my hands and feet to where I know the straps await.
"I hope you notice, Poppy. Sukie is beautifully obedient, even though she knows she is to receive severe pain."
"Yes, Mistress." Poor girl, what else is she to say!
The feeling as the straps tighten one by one upon my wrists and ankles is frightening and it is gorgeous! I don't know how you mix them, but my emotions manage it. When Naomi has buckled them as tight as she can pull the straps, I and stretched and helpless. No act or word of mine can change the inevitability of what is about to happen. I smile reassuringly at Poppy's pale intent concern.
"I want her bottom tight as a drum, dear."
I am honestly frightened. This is going to be a brute. I wish Poppy was not watching. I am sure I will disgrace myself.
The cane on any bottom is bad, but on one stretched and compressed as mine will be the pain will be horrific. Nor does the corset help. It seems specifically designed to deliver a girl's rump for attention. I cringe and long to moan as Naomi removes the garters and rolls down my nylons. I am almost ready.
They push and prod the bolster beneath my bottom until my rear rises up outrageously. To aid this effect there is the strap at the junction of my thighs. As this is tightened it lifts as well as compresses. My cringing cheeks receive another inch of elevation. I am not grateful. It is when this is done that the wicked one is passed across my back. Tightened, it constricts my middle but by some magic of its own adds to the prominence of my rounded cheeks. They have taken on a new roundness, they are tight as a ripe melon. They seem to have lost identity with the rest of me. But when the pain comes!
"Let us see if we can tighten the dear girl another notch all round." Aunt Dee-Dee is happily excited and in her element.
They tug and strain, but achieve little. I am so tightly " strapped I cannot move, I cannot even tremble or shiver. Such immobility is frightening.
"That's beautiful!" Dee-Dee pats a sacrificial cheek. "Ready darling?"
"Yes, Auntie."
"Good! Ask me to cane you."
"Auntie, please cane my bottom-as many strokes as you think best."
"How?"
"Hard, please."
"You darling child. You do that so well. I'm really looking forward to this."
As Auntie takes position I use the last of my courage to give Poppy a sly wink before I close my eyes and hold my breath.
It is very awful. Oh, terribly, terribly awful! Where are all the lovely words to tell of pain! Where are they now! How pale and inadequate they have become against this agony. My reared bottom cannot move. The cane cuts it viciously at will. Cuts and cuts and cuts... If I had not been caned before I would believe myself flayed indeed. It is inconceivable that flesh can so endure. I hear myself screaming. Sometimes I plead, hastily and urgently before I die, then scream some more. Here and there in the tossing of my head I catch a glimpse of Poppy's face. She is incredulous and enraptured. I wonder what else she feels.
"How good this is!" My Aunt exults, scoring my rump with joy. "What fine voice the dear child's in!"
I scream until the intermission in which Aunt Dee-Dee fingers my cunt. I know it is sopping. The only reason she can touch it is that, fastened as I am, a portion of it sticks out behind along with some strands of pussy hair. She tucks the hair back and pats my swollen lips.
"If I used the tip of the cane or the right whip I could give this plump puss something to remember," she muses tenderly. "But one thing at a time."
"Please, Auntie, I'll never be bad again. Please stop."
I recognize the voice as mine.
"Don't be a silly girl. You know perfectly well you'll be bad quite often, and that you're enjoying every minute of this."
"I'm not! I'm not-!"
The cane returns to my bottom and I return to my screams.
Everything ends. Even the caning of a girl's bottom.
They help me from the bench. I am wilted and crying and a mess. I cling to Naomi in a great gust of longing. My bottom is blazing out of control. I sob my poor thanks to my Aunt for what she has done to me. I can feel a radiance from her, she is so aroused.
They are busily kind to the poor girl whose punishment is not yet done. There is brandy and white handkerchiefs and the combing of my damp hair, and clucking maternal sounds. After awhile I sit quiescent while I am tended. I have no more sobs or tears. My bottom complains of my weight, but it can put up with it. I am angry with its pain and need the rest. After two brandies I feel better. Poppy seems hypnotized.
"We are going to take your corset now, dear."
I had forgotten! A girl cannot be whipped while she wears a corset. Certainly not with one as all encompassing as mine. Wearily I stand and clasp my hands behind my neck so that they may go to work.
"I'll use the key. You do the rest of her, dear."
I feel myself blossoming. It is hard to believe I was so compressed. Cool air finds its way to sweating skin. It is glorious to breathe again. I am free, perhaps not for long but free, free, free! The incredible case that has held me so cruelly is lifted away and I stand naked, my flesh colored and marked in the strangest patterns.
"Ohhhh! You're so lovely! You're such a beautiful girl."
It is Poppy again. She is enamored. I turn my bottom to her and demand: "Is this lovely? Tell me what it looks like."
She is as bad as I am. I have met my twin. I hear her ecstatic breathing. "I... I can't tell you. Really I can't. It's just too beautiful for words. Oh Sukie... Sukie... "
I reach down and feel. My fingertips follow the corrugation of ridges and I wince. I cannot bear to touch myself. Aunt Dee-Dee has caned me magnificently.
"Proud, darling?" she asks tenderly.
I am engulfed in pride, and a strange gratitude-perhaps because my caning is done. But then I remember the whip. Spontaneously I fall to my knees before the woman who has sentenced me. I clutch her thighs and plead.
"Auntie, please don't whip my back. I hurt so much."
"Where else, dear child?"
"Oh, Auntie, don't whip me at all. Forgive me. I'm sorry, I'm sorry! I'm sorry!"
"Your back must be whipped, dear. Don't make a stupid fuss."
"I can't bear it."
"Yes you can."
"I'm frightened. I screamed terribly. I'm so ashamed."
"Don't be ashamed of screaming, dear, it's natural. Naomi and I don't mind."
"I mind. Please, Auntie, please!"
"Your back is going to be whipped, Sukie. Now don't make me angry."
I make my voice humble. "Isn't there another way I can be punished?"
"Of course there is. But I have decided to whip your back, so that's an end to it. You are perfectly designed for whipping, Sukie. There's something about you."
"Thank you, Auntie."
"Since this is dear Poppy's first experience I think it would be nice, Naomi, if we suspend our little darling by her wrists and allow her to kick and wriggle all she likes. It's such a beautifully total exposure to the whip and makes her skin nicely taut."
It is the same as a command, and quickly done. I hold out my hands and watch my darling tie them tight with many bands to take my weight. I smile at Poppy to show that she too will survive. A moment later I hang dangling from my wrists, my arms and shoulders wracked in a discomfort I know too well. I twist and strive for the floor my toes cannot touch. I swear my big toes are not an inch from its support but they cannot make contact. I look up the naked columns of my arms to my poor tied wrists. My audience enjoy all my motions appreciatively.
"Isn't she lovely like that, Poppy dear!"
"Yes. Oh yes!"
"Do you look forward to the time when you will hang like that?"' "Today-will you-?"
"I had not planned it, dear. I think we must see how you behave with your caning. Twenty strokes is a big beginning for a little girl."
"I'm not a little girl, Mistress."
"You are to me, dear. You have the same quality as Sukie, but without her mischief."
"Why must Sukie be both caned and whipped, Mistress?"
"Because she deserves it, dear. Look at her lovely bottom! It's had enough for today, so now we move up to her back. For a girl's back a whip is much more suitable than a cane. Besides, it will make a nice change for the dear girl. The pain of a whip is quite different from that of a cane."
Auntie is quite right, there is a difference. Sometime when I am not in disgrace I must ask her how she knows. I know! The whip is more frightening, there's so many kinds and they wrap around more than a cane. I am always scared to death about my breasts. I expect every whipped girl is. With my arms up like this my breasts are as open to the lash as is the rest of me. Poppy glimpses.
"What about poor Sukie's... breasts, Mistress? Aren't they-"
"Of course they are, dear. That's part of her punishment. The whip could curl 'round under her arm if care is not taken. When we intend to whip her breasts alone we have a special whip. It's darling."
Suspended by her wrists, a girl is divorced from everything except strain and pain. We have been put out of our element and are helpless in our new dimension. In between feeling sorry for myself I pick up Poppy's vibes. She is quivering with every emotion she's got. I shamelessly look forward to seeing her caned. I hope I am allowed to watch. It would be cruel if they won't let me.
"And Poppy, you mustn't be nervous about speaking of breasts and pussies and bottoms and things. We punish them all, so we speak of them a lot. Is pussy the word you use, or do you prefer cunt?"
Aunt Dee-Dee sounds as though she is discussing tea or coffee. Poppy does a fine large gulp and looks at my cunt, my breasts and my bottom, no doubt to get used to the sight of them around. When the whip is taken from the wall she views it with fascinated horror. So do I!
"I don't care for a really long lash, dear. It curls too much and is inaccurate."
"I don't care for any of them, Auntie."
"Don't be flippant. You adore being whipped."
I shut up. How does a girl tell her aunt she'd sooner be whipped by someone else. If it was Naomi who was going to whip me now I would be all aglow and feeling very different from the way I do. I catch Naomi's eye. She shrugs helplessly. Auntie is our guest and privileged. It gives the poor dear so much happiness to cane or whip me we neither of us have the heart to say her nay.
"Watch carefully, Poppy. I pride myself on some skill."
I manage not to scream for number one. I can't help the kicking and squirming; I'm not sure I can stop that if I tried. If you want a girl motionless you have to tie her. The blow has laced the center of my back. I am sure the mark will be lovely on my white skin.
"Ooooo!" Poppy is transported.
"Doesn't she writhe delightfully. Watch her now."
They watch. I wish I could. Number two is higher up, its tip beneath my arm. A girl's flesh is very tender there. I bounce around shamefully. I moan.
"It's very hard for the poor darling to keep silent."
Number three makes it even harder. Auntie doesn't play fair. While I contort in agony I lift a leg too high. Instantly, the heavy thong snaps up in my crotch and over my bush to snap itself up on my tummy. I howl blue murder. When I can come to grips with the pain I gasp.
"Not there! Oh, Auntie, not up there please!"
"And why not, dear?"
"You said you'd whip my back."
"And so I will, child. I did not say I would abstain from other delectable portions of your anatomy."
"But it's so awful up there! Oh, Auntie, don't whip me any more. I've had enough. I hurt all over."
"Stop whining. If you don't want your cunt cut keep your legs down. I can't possibly resist the temptation."
"I can't help it. The pain's so awful they go up all on their own." I sniffled and had a bright idea. "Please tie my ankles together, then they won't be able to do it."
"Pure insolence, Sukie! It is not for you to say how you should be disposed. Open your legs wide, I'm going to teach you a lesson."
"Nooooo! Ohhhh-arragh!"
"Open your legs then. If you don't your breasts will get the next."
I open my legs wide. It seems the hardest act of my life. I have to force them apart. Holding them open while she decides the angle of assault is an unbearable suspense. When the lash burns my puss I go absolutely wild. When I clamber back to coherence I seek an end.
"How many strokes must I have, Auntie?"
"That's none of your business, dear."
If it is not mine I don't know whose business it is! But I do not voice this bitterness. I do not want to have to separate my legs again. I sway and scream as the strokes play their satanic scale up and down my back from bottom to neck. Somehow in my writhings I manage not to kick one leg too far away from the other. Poppy listens to my screams in patent disbelief, her arms tense against the bond at her back. She avails herself of the freedom of her feet to ensure a study of every part of me. I expect she is visualizing herself in my place.
The whipping of my back goes on a long time. Dee-Dee whips me slowly and with relish. I do not die or faint or anything dramatic because it is not the worst possible whip, it is not allowed to curl too far around my stretched nudity, and I think she is not hitting me as hard as she could. Nonetheless, when it is done I glisten with sweat, much of me is aflame, my wrists hurt brutally, I am hoarse from screaming and my mouth is dry from fear. I am altogether a sad little girl hanging by my wrists.
"Give her some brandy, dear."
Naomi holds it to my lips. I gulp it like water and ask for more. I am irradiated with thankfulness. I am even half prepared for what comes next.
"Sukie can hang as she is while we attend to Poppy."
I am conveniently disposed of like a used broom or an umbrella. I do not complain. My wrists will just have to put up with it. I will risk no more punishment. There are worse things than being suspended.
"You will have a nice view of everything, darling." Dee-Dee pats my bottom. I am consoled.
A star is dead, another born. Poppy preens in the spotlight. Her face is a study. I am sure she is grateful her handcuffs rob her of decision. "Is it my turn now?" She does not sound eager.
"I do hope you're looking forward to it, dear?"
"I'm frightened."
"Of course! Such a lively feeling."
"You will tell me what to do, won't you. I'm... I'm... well, I just don't know. Are you sure you want to bother?"
She is soundly bussed and patted. Morale must be maintained. She is led to the bench. She looks back and forth from it to me, finding comfort in my survival. I am really remarkably alive.
"Let us feel your Pussy, dear. It is always as well to know."
Poppy passes the test of the two inquiring hands that glisten more now than before. She eyes this evidence of her own lubricity in quaint surprise.
"Lay forward on the bench, Poppy."
Auntie is taking no chances with fickle courage. The straps circle Poppy's ankles instantly while her hands are still cuffed behind her back. A girl can't struggle much when she's lost her feet.
"We'll unlock your handcuffs now, dear. Then I want you to edge up and forward while you have your hands. I'll position the bolster."
Poppy is awkward. She is visibly trembling. She does her best, her bottom rears above the ministrations of my Aunt.
"Do you expect a climax, dear?"
"I... I... I don't know." The tremulous admission clearly says there is more to getting a caned bottom than a girl might suppose.
"Haven't you been caned before, Poppy?" Dee-Dee manages to make it sound like not going beyond grade five.
"Noooo, not really. Is that what happens?"
"A well caned bottom is conducive to a heated sex, dear. Sukie orgasms frequently. We like to help."
"Help?"
"Extra hard strokes at just the right moment work wonders, dear."
Poppy gulps and puts her hands where she is told. "It could be because of my cunt on that hard cushion thing," she offers helpfully.
"We'll watch for it, darling. Or you can tell us if you like. Or make some sounds like 'Oh, oh, oh'."
"Will I be punished if I don't? I'm not sure... "
"Of course not, Poppy. We just want you to know we're with you all the way."
Poppy tried hard to look back over her shoulder while her waist and thighs were strapped tight. I could have told her it was a waste of time. She was fixed for sure. When ordered to ask nicely, her response was a blush.
"I do feel silly."
"You won't once you're being caned."
"Oh! Well... Please cane my bottom nicely, Mistress."
"Come, come-how?"
"Oooooo, does it have to be hard. I mean-" The cane sliced Poppy's bottom with a sound that made me wince. My Aunt Dee-Dee had given of her best. "What would you call that, Poppy?"
Poppy surprised us all by climaxing into a most dramatic orgasm on the spot. Her vital juices must have gathered in pent up excitation as she watched me get mine. Her vocals and her muscular spasms against the straps evidenced a healthy libido. Ever alert, my Aunt improved the occasion with a solid thwack across the straining seat.
"Oh dear... I'm most terribly sorry!" The apology was sincere. Poppy had an anxious temperament. She came out with the avowal as soon as her libidinous moans and gasps would allow.
"What are you sorry about, child?"
Poppy's blush rose again. "You know... that thing I just did."
"We all envied you."
"Did you really!" Pride was rampant.
"Of course. And now you're going to ask for the stroke."
All hesitancy was gone. With further orgasms in mind Poppy's demand was trenchant. "Ooooo, very hard please."
It is quite absurd. But as I hang here, naked and whipped, and watch the lovely weals spring up on Poppy's flesh I feel myself gathering for an explosion too. Goodness knows, no girl could be situated less favourably for concupiscence than I, but it is going to happen. I know it is! As the gorgeous wounds flame up across Poppy's pert posterior a flame of my own possesses me and consumes my loins. I jerk and heave in exactly the same way as beneath the whip, my legs flail, I strain myself upward to my pinioned wrists in ecstasy. At the very apex of my delicious agony Aunt Dee-Dee's cane cuts my wounded bottom so that I spasm and scream in a paean of exultation more vivid than any I have delivered beneath the lash.
I hang, sweating and ashamed.
I am incorrigible.
I am happy.
CHAPTER SIX - THE PARTED THIGHS
"Gee, it's good to be by ourselves again!"
I nuzzle Naomi's nipple and bite it gently. We lie naked in her bed. The familiar chain is locked upon my ankle. I am more than ever glad I am her slave.
"They've been gone a week, Sukie. What a blessing darling little Poppy turned out to be. With that bundle of sexuality safe in chains Auntie ought to be replenished."
"She'll be terribly cruel to the poor kid."
"Who cares! Least of all Poppy. After that first caning I'd label her the most masochistic mascot in the U.S.A."
"It isn't masochochism, darling. Just active glands."
My darling giggles. "Well, you should know, sweets. I thought you headed the list until that girl started to inundate our whipping bench with her secretions. I should have made you lick it up."
"I would have if you'd told me."
A gentle hand tugs my ear. "You'd do anything I told you, wouldn't you, Sukie!"
"Anything, Mistress."
I divert my attention to the other nipple. It is already pink and hard. Naomi almost purrs. "I'm terribly lucky in you, Pet. Lucky, lucky, lucky. I love you."
"I love you, Mistress."
"No need to call me Mistress. You're not under sentence."
"Sometimes I just want to. It seems so right."
My ear gets pinched, I quiver. "Y'know, Sukie, I think Poppy sparked something in you. What's with this business of wanting me to whip you every day?"
I nuzzle avidly. "It's not Poppy, darling. It's just relief over you owning me all to yourself again. It feels so good. I've been nervous about Aunt Dee-Dee, she's been so hungry for me. I could see us having a stand up fight if she tried to take me from you."
"But now she's got Poppy we're safe?"
"It's so wonderful, darling. It's left me wanting so much of you, to have you doing something to me all the time, to never let me go."
"Like keeping you locked in the cage? Where did you get that idea?"
"Not in the cage at night, Naomi."
"Serve you right if I did! Where'd you get the notion?"
"Well, it's silly." I rubbed the wet nipple with my nose. "But I'm half scared to go out in public. Because of us there's a sort of aura I project. It's not because I'm beautiful... it's sexual. It reaches out and grabs the men-and then we have an incident that leaves us bothered."
"But why the cage?"
"I suppose I've got a guilt complex. I want to be punished."
"Well, I'm not going to stop taking you out and around, Sukie. I'm too proud of my slave girl. You mustn't look at anyone but me. One glance from you and a man's got an erection."
"I'm susceptible to men, darling. I expect it's the glands."
"You and your glands! The last thing we'll do is try and cure 'em. Right now I'll give you a promise to whip the daylights out of you every time you give a male the come hither."
"Ooooooo, that will be lovely!
"Sexpot."
"I can't promise it will help though."
"Tell me then, what punishment really gets under your skin?"
I pretend prettily. "You should know that better than I. Don't my reactions show?"
"Yes, at the time. Like when I'm whipping you, for instance. You seem awfully sad while I'm doing it, but then afterwards you look back and enjoy every stroke and start looking forward to the next lot."
"I've told you, darling, I'm incorrigible. Aunt Dee-Dee's right, girls should be whipped daily."
"I could keep you in heavy chains all the time, but they make such a clatter."
"There's the dungeon. I don't like that a bit."
"Neither do I. When you're locked in there where does it leave me? I'm punishing myself more than you."
Pensively, Naomi changes ears and I go back to her other nipple. "I have sitting on that horse thing," I offer tentatively.
Naomi perks. "You do, don't you! But I'm not sure about that either. You make enough fuss when I've got you tied on it, but I suspect that afterwards your pussy keeps reminding you about the bad time she had and you get to hoping I'll do it to you again."
"Girls are funny, darling."
"Slave girls are. You're not like the rest of us. You're special You're hard to live up to. I bet Poppy's giving Aunt Dee-Dee plenty to think about."
I giggle. "I bet Poppy herself's doing more thinking than sitting."
"Let's get-back to you, Pet."
"Don't worry about your slave girl, darling. You've got me. That's all that matters." I kick my chained ankle to emphasize my point. "I love being taken out by you but I won't be responsible-you'll just have to whip me more and more. "Sukie!"
"Well, you will! Maybe you should buy a really awful whip."
"No. I won't have your skin cut. I refuse. You'll have to be satisfied with the one's we've got."
"Oh, but I am, darling."
"You're an outrageous bundle of sensuality, Sukie. Go and get breakfast."
"You'll have to unlock my ankle and chain my feet."
"I'll do it the other way 'round, just to be safe."
"Or do I get to wear handcuffs?"
"No, you enjoy them. Give me both your feet." I watch while the lovely fetters are locked to join my ankles with a shining chain, and the shackle which has held me through the night is set aside for next time. We kiss and I clink my way to the bathroom. I can walk in chains as easily as work in handcuffs. I am a slave girl. If you feel sorry for me, don't! I am happier than you.
As I putter in the kitchen, I think. Naomi is right, I cannot get enough of my darling and her punishments. In her I am fulfilled. Her punishments are a bond between us, like a bridal ring to be worn with pride. We have indulged ourselves in an orgy of excess. Aunt Dee-Dee left me well enough striped, but their number has not grown less. I now bear more, many, many more! And we have other ways! I hum cheerfully. I know I am absurd but I do not care. My pussy purrs when I speculate as to what my fate may be today. I must stop asking to be punished, I am ridiculous.
"I have thought of a new twist to an old trick," Naomi says brightly.
I stand in our fun and games room. My hands are tied behind my back, so are my elbows. The elbows mean my Mistress is going to be severe. We discussed my absurdities over breakfast. As a result I am to be punished, not for being bad but for being me. I am sure the reason is good. I am very nude.
"You said yourself you didn't like it."
"Oh Mistress! How can any girl like sitting on that horrid thing."
"You seem to survive it remarkably well, Sukie."
"But when I'm tied on there it's just awful."
"Good! So that's where you're going." . We survey the trestle that is called a "Horse". The crosspiece on which I must sit, perched astride, is cruelly narrow. I think I can feel my pussy shrinking. She does not like it up there with most of my weight resting on her. I look inquiringly about for the "new twist".
"It's nothing you can see, Sukie," Naomi giggles.
"What is it then? I'm frightened."
"I'll tell you when you're safely fixed."
"You mean it's so awful I won't climb up there if I know!"
"You forget you're tied. Pet. You have to."
I have not forgotten I'm tied. My elbows hurt. I can expect them to hurt more. I'm terribly helpless. My Mistress can do anything she likes with me.
"Oh alright." I pretend to feel hurt.
"Up you go."
I sniff haughtily in disdain and step up on the box beneath the bar. I put a foot across the other side so that I stand with the bar or plank or whatever you want to call it between my thighs. This is a road I have traveled before.
"O.K. Pet. I'm impressed. You don't like it. Now sit down."
"I can't, I'll fall off. My hands are tied."
"Oooops, sorry! I forgot the ankles."
I look down and watch my ankles circled with the leather bands, each has its ring to which are attached the ropes threaded through the other rings, far out on either side, in the floor.
"Want to sit down gently, Pet? I'll let you."
Naomi is being sweet. If she pulls the ropes my feet will go with them and it will be pure chance whether my pussy sits on the hard edge in a position that is just awful instead of terribly, terribly awful. Very gingerly I lower myself and make as comfortable contact as I can. Comfortable is not a good word for anything to do with "The Horse".
"Thank you, darling, I'm set."
Everything explodes. My feet fly out in opposite directions. If the ropes were not tight I would fall. But the ropes are very tight indeed and hold me where I am. I sit, oh how I sit! My poor dear Puss! My hands and arms strain to aid my emergency, but they are tied tight at my back. Naomi snubs the ropes and kicks away the box. After a survey of all points of interest, including what I am sitting on, she tests the ropes again and manages to pick up an inch on each. She ties them in a bow to mock me.
I am the Horse.
"I was thinking of two hours, Pet."
I am thinking two minutes is too long. But I don't count. On previous occasions I have told her of how I am splitting in two and that my puss will never be any good again, also that I am dying. Since she had heard all this before I am embarrassed to mention it again. Instead I give a heartrending moan. It is most sincere.
"Want to hear your nice surprise, Sukie?"
"No. Please take me off."
"It's very novel."
"I don't care. I simply can't bear this. I know I've said it before but it's true. Ohhhhhhh... darling!"
"I'm going to go away and leave you."
"You always do... oh... please!"
"This time I'm leaving to go and do some shopping. I'll get home just exactly as the second hour expires. You'll be all by yourself."
"No!" I positively howl my denial.
"But yes! A new experience. You and your pussy on your own."
I am genuinely frightened. If my darling has sought something I fear, she has found it. To be alone like this without possibility of help scares me to death. "Please don't... Naomi, don't leave me-not in agony on this beastly contraption."
Naomi stands on the box to kiss my nipples and my lips. She makes one last check all 'round, including my wrists. Then she goes away. Soon I hear the muffled closing of the door.
It is psychological, all in my mind. Sitting in my agony with the sharp edge burrowing into my cunt, I tell myself to be sensible and don't panic. But always previously she has come to glance at me every half hour or so. I have known she was within the sound of my voice. Should I faint she could give me aid. But now! A vast vista of loneliness stretches out ahead. Sitting on this brutal edge two hours seems the same as two days. Interminable...
This is a wicked punishment. I don't know why we practice it. It is my fault. I am a silly foolish girl to treat this anguish so insouciantly before it starts and after it is done. To my darling it must seem the same as the whip; I howl while it happens and afterwards I laugh. I am absurd and deserve all I get. But still... I think we choose it because it is sexy, excitingly female in its thrust into our cunts. Oh, oh, oh, if only I'd had more sense! If only-and now I sit alone frightened.
How absurd I am! And yet! What glory I have found in Naomi, and she in me. What else is love but possession. I possess her as surely as she possesses me. That my enslavement flourishes by my tacit consent in no way weakens it. Some prisoners are held only by their bars, but I am doubly captive because I love. At this moment I suffer. I ask myself if I would not sooner be happily shopping with Naomi-two girls laughing and radiant with each other, and of course I would! But in this suffering there is a core of reality most essential to us both. I would like to analyse it, but cannot. When one considers, it is strange that love is the only human emotion defying analysis; the rest we can trace to their beginnings.
It does not matter how I am punished. Its severity is by degree and by comparison and stems from the same root, thus all is one. My erotic excitations sustain me into the preludes of even the worst and most painful, then wait patiently upon the other side to inflame me again when I emerge from agony. As I sit here hurting and able only to twist my shoulders a little I endure in that knowledge.
But I hurt, I hurt, I hurt!
The sound of the door is electrifying. Every one of my tortured nerves springs to awareness. My darling has relented, or she was teasing, or has changed her mind. If I could move I would leap to greet her but I cannot. She may not set me free, but she will be close. I glow with thankfulness and watch the door. For a moment my agony is less, my bound arms do not matter. When Reese J. Cottrell enters I freeze in horror.
"Afternoon, Sukie."
My freeze begins to melt. He is very cheerful and very male. The horror is mostly at my plight. What girl wants a man to see her sitting naked on a pole with her feet stretched a mile apart!
"Beautiful pose, sweetheart. You've a gift."
It is then I see the cameras. He is bedecked in them like a tourist. I sit stupidly in shock.
"Your aunt gave me a key. Relented surprisingly. Seemed to tickle some sense of humour of her own. Touch of jealousy, I'd suppose."
His admission of malfeasance is nonchalant. Were my puss otherwise than as she is she would perk at his admiration. I am aware of being an inadequate hostess. I would love to smite my Aunt Dee-Dee mightily. I can visualize her chuckling.
The conversation has been one sided. "When Naomi finds you here she'll call the police," I warn. It seems an appropriate remark.
"You know damn well she won't, sweetheart. D'you want to scream a bit-get it off those nice chests?"
I blush for my breasts, and curse the tie on my elbows that makes them fill the horizon. "Please go away, Mr. Cottrell. This isn't fair. I'm so helpless." I contrive a touch of hauteur.
"Call me Reese, honey."
I don't call him anything, but sit scarlet and split while he takes inventory. I cannot conceive a greater humiliation for any girl.
"You've been naughty, naughty?"
It is the whip marks and what he can see of my bottom. I expect I am a bit like a Turner sunset. "Yes," I say noncommittally. "Don't let it bother you."
His inspection of my person is pensive and minute. He fingers the ropes by which I am bound, but makes no move to loose them. "You sitting up there for fun or some sort of punishment?"
"Punishment."
"Masochistic?"
"No."
He nods as though we are making steady progress, and turns his attention to my cunt. "Poor thing's mashed a bit, eh! Hurt much?"
"Incredibly."
He tries to insert a finger but fails. "Wetting the wood a bit, I notice?"
"None of your concern."
"Nooo, 'spose not. Bit surprising though. Your tits are hard too."
"They're not your concern either. Please refer to them as nipples."
"O.K. 'tits' is trite. What name d'you prefer for what you're sitting on?"
"It's a plank set on edge."
"You know perfectly well what I mean."
"Call it anything you wish. I see no need to discuss it."
"My, my! We are polite and distant, aren't we!" He completes his circle of my discomfort. "Actually you're remarkably safe the way you're fixed-chap couldn't get into you anywhere."
My blush should be worn out by now but it isn't. His observation is quaintly true, my perch preserves my purity. "You called to make an insertion?" I ask frigidly.
"It's a nice idea, sweetheart, but I'd have to untie you."
"Is that thought so repugnant, Mr. Cottrell?"
"Call me Reese. Actually I came to take pictures."
He has done it again, dellation! I am furious. I am also furious with myself for being furious. But he must not know! "But you'll have to untie me if you expect me to pose."
"Good heavens, no! Spoil something as perfect and remarkable as you are now! It would be sacrilege."
He busies himself with equipment. I sit-in agony and fume. I have become simply an object d'art. My breasts and puss are valued only for their silhouette. Reese Cottrell is as big a pain as what I am sitting on.
"I suppose my consent is superfluous?"
"Right. But I'll mail you a check. Usual rates, plus bonus."
"How generous! Why the bonus?"
"Naked bondage with discomfort. It's the discomfort gets you the extra twenty."
"Twenty thousand?"
"Twenty dollars."
"You'd never get a girl to endure this for twenty dollars."
"That's right, honey. That's why I'm here. You're manna from heaven. You'll double the circulation."
"I shall sue you, of course."
"No you won't."
He busies himself with light meters and strobes, sparing my lovely nakedness only brief glances of appraisal. I am piqued. Even hurt as she is my puss likes the look of him. His dismissal of my threat is cunt crinklingly male. I hope he is picking up the scent of my musk and that it will bother him. I sit helpless and seethe.
I get my picture taken.
Do I ever! Film is as nothing to this man. I am immortalized as an entity and as component parts. My breasts entrance the lens. My spread thighs and crushed cunt invite exquisite focus. Even my ankle, tautly tied and tugged gains recognition.
"Beautiful... beautiful... " He says it over and over with every click of the shutter.
"I suppose my face doesn't matter?"
"Actually it's the most important of all. You may not believe this but it's so. Ask any reader. It's the amalgam that ties it all together. Trouble is, you're playing this haughty maiden act and it'll show."
"I'll relapse into simple agony if that's what you want. It won't be hard."
"Would you! Thanks." He sounds immensely grateful, and clicks as though fearing a change of heart.
"There's two approaches to this, sweetheart. Maiden agony and the girl who loves it. You've been marvellous with the agony. Think you can manage rapt adoration?"
I dare not tell him how easy it is. I must keep some secrets. I do not have to turn on rapture, it wells up all the way from my puss. Reese clicks and clicks and then exclaims irritably. "Dammit, girl, you've given me an erection!"
I am consumed with joy. Even a bound girl may have her victories! "Isn't that what your readers pay for?" I ask acidly.
"They're not leaping around with a camera, sweet. There's times when a hard's a handicap."
He stood and gazed at me, insouciance gone, his camera trailing from one hand. His words came slowly as though he was puzzled by their import. "You don't know, do you, how lovely you are? What an ineffable radiance you project... there's an aura. No other girl."
I am female. I am touched. I am desired-not carnally but as a thing of beauty, it is the greatest tribute. For a moment my heart sings.
"Untie me."
He knows what I am saying. This is a man who knows my sex too well. I wonder if he guesses how spontaneous and without volition was my request. I quiver in arousal.
Reese shakes his head slowly. The madrigals sink into a declension in my heart. His sense of beauty has inflamed my lechery. "Sorry, Sukie, wouldn't be doing the right thing."
"What on Earth do you care about right things?"
"I didn't come here to rape or rob-except for these-" He holds up the camera deprecatingly. "There's Miss Terrace. I do value goodwill.'."
"What's Naomi got to do with you untying me?"
"I'm not sure." He grins disarmingly. "You could escape."
"Untie me anyway."
"No. I'll leave you as I found you. You know: tidiness."
"Please?"
"Why?"
"I could pose for you. I'd let you tie me-differently."
"That the only reason?"
My flaming cheeks are his answer. He becomes paternal. "Don't think I don't want to or that I'm not flattered, but you and your Naomi have got something, a thing precious and rare. I'm not going to mess it up."
He is nice, he has a decency. Instead of sobering me it inflames. I am raw female, lusting. I hate myself.
"Fuck me, Reese."
He is two strong for me. He is neither devastated or disarmed. My slit is safe when I do not want it safe. His glorious maleness crumbles my slavery and makes me wanton.
"I'm not shocked, Sukie. Never much cared for the word."
I don't care for it either, but it's a bit late to say so. I'd used it only for potency. I sit naked on my perch consumed by pain and lust. For this moment they are one, perhaps they always are. I refuse to think of Naomi and reproachful eyes. I have known little of the male for so long that Reese hungers me in ways I had thought exorcised. I am lost to shame.
"Untie me, Reese. I'll let you tie me like this again, after."
"Sukie!" He lifts my chin and kisses me. "Is it that bad?"
I nod. Surely he can feel my longing! "Yes... oh, yes."
"I had you figured for two contented lesbians."
I squirmed. "I don't know what I am. Don't shame me."
"Your Naomi is for sure." He nodded confirmingly. "It figures. You're the little lovebird who needs her wings clipped. Naomi has the scissors."
"You make her sound awful."
"Didn't mean to. In her way she's as beautiful as you. I envy her."
"Because she has me?"
"Yes. You're a sort of miracle."
"I've just offered myself to you-you won't even untie me."
"I've told you the reason why, it's still good. After I'm gone you'll be glad."
"A naughty girl admonished and sent home to Mummy?"
"Something like that."
"Reese, don't you want me, honest? My breasts, my pussy and my pubic hair, my arms around you?"
"Stop it, Sukie."
"Haven't you any chivalry that wants to set me free? I don't think you've really understood I'm tied in torture. I am! I'm one of your damsels in distress. Don't you ever turn us loose?"
Reese Cottrell kissed me. It was a beautiful kiss. On the whipping bench he placed his card. On the card he placed a key. A moment later he was gone with all his gear. I heard the front door close with a sure finality. The gleam of the key he would not use again spelled renunciation.
I cried and cried.
I was still crying when Naomi came home. She took one look at me and leaped to a conclusion of disaster.
"Darling, was it so awful? Oh Sukie!"
My love and my need of her floods over me erasing the lingering potency of the Male. I adore Naomi, I adore my Mistress. How could I ever... Fresh floods of tears shake me on my perch. When she pushes the box beneath my seat and reaches for my tied wrists I shake my head in vehement denial. "No! Oh, Mistress, no, no, no!"
"But, Sukie!" She does not understand. "Why?"
It is then she sees the key and the card. I tell her everything.
She still does not understand I make confession. "But, Sukie, why? Your two hours-are gone. It's time."
I sob anew, and can only whisper brokenly. "Punish me... oh, punish me. I'm... I'm-" My distress disturbs her. "I'll untie you, darling. We'll talk."
"No! No! Leave me here. I deserve it."
"Stop being silly. Two hours of this is enough for any girl."
"Don't you understand! I wanted him. I wanted him to fuck me. I asked him to."
"Alright, you've confessed. I forgive you." Her eyes are twinkling. "I know my Sukie."
Her love is too much for me. I produce more salt water and sob. "But I asked him. I was wanton. I wanted his maleness inside me, fucking my cunt. It didn't seem to be me but someone else. But it was me, it was. I tried to seduce him. Oh darling."
"Don't be tedious, Pet."
"But don't you see. It's this male thing all over again. It's something inside me, something bad, bad, bad. I hate myself. I look at a man and catch fire."
"Such a lovely fire, Sukie, dear."
"It isn't! It makes me unfaithful to you."
"Sukie wouldn't be Sukie without it."
I sob quietly while I am untied; hoping my gladness does not show. The way I am tied to sit is too awful for words, but I would have borne it gladly for the rest of the day if it would have washed away my sin. I have soiled myself. Only punishment will cleanse me. I desire it most urgently. When my darling eases me from my painful perch my pussy screams in silent agony. I am glad, glad, glad. She deserves it all.
We make love with an intensity we rarely reach. I do not care that my puss is sore. After awhile she does not care either.
Naomi twinkles at me over her cocktail. In ecstatic comfort I lounge close to her on our chesterfield. I hold my glass in handcuffed hands. The bright steel upon my wrists is my only bond.
"It's all Aunt Dee-Dee's fault, Pet. Forget the whole thing."
I squirm and make a terrible confession. "I can't. I keep trying but it won't go away. The thing he was decent enough not to do to me has left me frightened. I can't be trusted."
"And so you want me to punish you?"
"Yes."
"But, Sukie dear, after this afternoon! Surely?"
"That was something else, nothing to do with this at all."
"You're determined, aren't you. Don't feel silly, darling, I understand. Maybe I'd feel the same way. It's a sort of thing with girls, part of that noble immolation compulsion we've laughed about."
I gulp thirstily. "You'll do it?"
"Darling, go and look in the mirror. I'm not going to search your pretty pelt looking for another spot to place a stripe."
"There's the soles of my feet."
"There's nothing a girl can do deserves that."
"I deserve it."
"Don't be silly. How about sending you to bed without supper? But I'm damned if I'm going to send you there alone."
"Oh, Naomi, you're poking fun."
"Yes I was. I'm sorry. This means something to you-a thing of the spirit not the flesh. But, Sukie dear, I don't feel like punishing you at all."
"Hang me up by my wrists-all night."
"Stop it, or I will get angry with you."
I refill our glasses. I am a slave girl half way to happiness. My handcuffs are my wedding ring, their clasp is comforting. I gulp my drink, perhaps it is to gain a false courage for what I seek. What a pity it is I am such a zebra. A nice sensible whipping would wipe my slate clean. I desire it ardently.
"Mustn't I ask for a penance, Naomi?"
"Really, Sukie, you're impossible. You've got me in such a. dither of lust with this sweet penitence I want to take you to bed. The only sensible punishment I can think to inflict on you is the very one that hurts me."
"The dungeon, Mistress?"
"Yes. You genuinely don't like it, and I can load you with chains."
It is not the one I would have chosen. It is not dramatic enough, only dismal. But I do hate it so perhaps it is a proper choice. I get myself another drink and snuggle happily.
"I shouldn't let you have three, you sex kitten."
I giggle. "With this one I should be able to sleep through half of it." I pause, stricken. "That is if you're going to let me out in the morning?"
"I won't tell you when you get out. I ought to chain you so you can't lay down. Maybe I will."
I know she will not. The only cloud on my horizon is small: that she may not free me in the morning... or the morning after. But this is a bridge I will cross when I must. After all, I am a slave and my Mistress is being very forgiving. I glow at her and throw a kiss.
"Come on, menace, let's appease your conscience and get . you out of the way." My darling is pretending to be severe. I follow demurely.
Our dungeon is not underground, but in all else it is frighteningly authentic, so are the chains. Naomi locks chains on me everywhere. They are purely punitive since I am not going anywhere. They are variously linked to the wall or to the floor. My poor dear little handcuffs, sadly discarded, seem tiny in comparison. I can't do much of anything, but there is nothing for me to do except crouch down in the dim light and tell myself what a foolish girl I am and that this will strengthen my character. I am soundly kissed and left alone.
Well, I asked for it, didn't I!
I weep.
Sometime in the darkness Naomi comes, a white and naked wraith, lovely beyond dreams.
"You little pest. I can't sleep without you. You'll have to put up with company."
She has a flashlight. I watch incredulously as she discovers a shackle with its chain trailing to a ring in the floor. She tries it for size, it fits her wrist. She locks it on herself with a decisive snap. Grinning she shows me the key, then places it on the floor a yard away.
She puts out the light.
Suddenly and joyfully we are one.
I suppose we're crazy.
Are we!
CHAPTER SEVEN - THE VANQUISHED MAIDENS
Since we spend much of our night tumbling we sleep late. Adequate light is coming through the small barred window high in the wall. I am an amusing tangle of chains and limbs. Half the limbs are Naomi's. She has clutched and covered me like a blanket. Her sleeping breath is gentle on my neck. Our world is beautiful.
Something has wakened me. I part with sleep as from an old friend and blink myself into daylight. It is then I see the shoes. In the shoes are feet, both are male.
"Rise and shine, girls, it's ten o'clock," says a bright and cheerful voice I know too well.
It is Gerald.
I feel Naomi tense. I am already very much awake. We push ourselves off the floor and look up in dismay. Naomi's hands fly to cover her breasts. She looks, stupidly, at the shackle on her wrist. She had forgotten it. The chain rattles mockingly.
"What the Devil!" She glares at the kid brother who should not see her naked. "How did you get in?"
"Stole the key." Gerald is forever the gamin lecher, perky with mischief, a youthful satyr.
"Get out of here, Gerald, while I dress."
"What in, Sis'?"
It is the flashing moment of realization. I am chained too helplessly to do anything, but Naomi is not. She dives for the key upon the floor.
Gerald treads on it heavily.
My darling forgets her nudity. With angry fists she pounds her brother's shoe, his ankle, his leg. When her assault reaches his knee, Gerald casually flips the key across the floor to the wall. Desperately, Naomi pursues, but the chain on her wrist tugs her back far short of the tiny bit of metal that spells our doom. She stands there, panting, gazing bitterly at the metal band locked upon her wrist by her own hand. Her nudity is forgotten. Eyeing her warily, Gerald backs out of her reach.
"Stop playing the fool, Gerald. Give me that key and get out of here. You shouldn't be looking at us naked like this."
It is big sister talking. But little brother has grown. "You've got lovely tits, Sis', and lookit' that black bush!"
"Gerald!"
A bare foot stamps ineffectually on the floor and a bare girl looks at her smiling brother in a dawning comprehension of defeat. The authority of seniority has vanished.
"Yes, Sis', you were saying?"
"Give me the key. I'll set Sukie free and we'll all go and have a nice breakfast. You can tell me why you dropped in."
"Bread and water, isn't it, in dungeons," Gerald muses thoughtfully. "I'll bring it after I've had my eggs and bacon." He waves his hand airily. "Don't apologize about the service. I'll cook it myself. When the help's in prison a gentleman expects to rough it a bit."
"Gerald, stop it. I'm your sister."
"What's that got to do with it! Must be a lot of chaps around the U.S.A. who've got a sister in jail."
"I'm not in jail."
"What else would you call it?" With tremendous relish Gerald leers at his sister's stricken features. "After you've been chained in here a month or so you'll get used to it. I'll make a wonderful jailer."
"Gerald, please!"
"Please what?"
"Get us out of these chains."
He has been examining me with curiosity. "I might let Sukie out of some. She's carrying enough scrap metal to keep us in groceries for a year. Where's the key?"
"Over there. It fits them all."
Gerald retrieves the fateful object. It is when he has inserted it in one of my shackles that Naomi jumps him. She twirls her chain round his neck. Helpless as I may be, I manage to grab his ankle in both my fettered hands.
Fighting for one's life or freedom is not a bit what you expect. It comes as a demeaning shock to discover your adversary is just as smart and much stronger than yourself. Being naked does not help. Being chained frustrates you to tears. I'd have sworn that chain 'round his throat would have reduced Gerald to his proper stature. But he twisted and brutally used his fists. The key had been his first thought when attacked: he had flung it against the far wall where it once more mocked us. He viciously hurt his sister before breaking from our clutching hands. My own contribution to the fray had been so pitiful I had not earned a blow. He backed away from us, red faced and angry. For a moment he had been scared.
"I suppose you had to try that," he conceded after we had all got our breath back. "You'll pay for it though, Sis'. Can't blame Sukie much. D'you want the poor kid to stay as she is, or do I try again?"
His question is rhetorical. Naomi shrugs disgustedly and moves as far from me as her chain permits. "Go ahead, you little twerp. I'll stay here. I promise."
Interestedly and without kindness, Gerald relieves me of about seventy pounds of steel. My darling watches the operation dejectedly, her back against the far wall. She glowers at his watchful eye but does not move. When he is satisfied, I find my hands chained in front and a collar locked 'round my neck; from it falls away the inevitable chain to its anchoring ring. I suppose, as chainings go, it is most humane. I say "Thank you, Gerald" and actually mean it. Being able to move feels good.
Our master surveys his captives. Naomi and I are naked packages seething resentment at our fate. But Naomi can still fight. Gerald is cautious. He throws her the leg irons he has taken from me.
"Clamp them on."
"Drop dead."
It is not an impasse. I think an impasse between male and female is rare. The male is stronger than we are. It is like the deciding vote at a meeting. Gerald ostentatiously places the key far beyond our reach and moves in to the fray.
"Gerald, don't you dare! HI hurt you." Poor dear Naomi!
Females should not fight males, not when they are willing to use their fists on us. A girl's fists are so tiny, but theirs! We are defeated by our breasts and our face-we are so frightened for them. As their brutal club-like hands beat us we are stricken. Gerald used his fists with gusto. I tried to help but was forever getting my head snapped back by my tether. When my darling was finally allowed to get to her feet her ankles were firmly locked. She kicked at their short chain in furious disgust.
"Making progress," said Gerald. "Now your hands. You're altogether too rambunctious."
Poor Naomi! She is now confined enough that threats sound silly. When her delighted brother finds handcuffs and a whip, she eyes them and him disdainfully but raises her arms and watches while Gerald pushes her shackle up her wrist high enough to permit the more intimate bite of the shining cuff. When her other wrist is joined she is very helpless indeed. We can both do a few things for ourselves, but we are no longer a threat.
"Now, about that breakfast," said Gerald.
Alone, we are both stricken with guilt. "If only I hadn't made you put me here!" I moan.
"And if I'd had more sense than to chain myself!" Naomi examines her well-locked wrists. "Oh damn and double damn!"
"Well, he can't keep us like this forever,"! console. "Why not?"
Why not indeed! I survey the premise in an increasing dismay. The metal collar is heavy on my throat. Both of us can now forget escape.
"Won't he go home this evening-get bored with us?"
"Oh, Pet, don't be simple. A man bored with two naked girls in chains! Come off it. We're in trouble."
"But his work... and where he lives, and everything... " I am still clinging to normalcy.
Naomi fretfully tests her bonds, they clink mockingly. "Think a bit, Pet. He can arrange things. I'm scared... the way he hurt me to lock these damn things on... and I'm his sister. I used to think he was just full of mischief, but now it's more than that. I forget he's not a kid, he's nineteen. It's a rotten in-between age. At nineteen a male is liable to try anything."
"You mean-?"
"Yes. He can fuck you and I won't be able to stop him. Hell, I can't stop anything."
"He wouldn't dare. Isn't what he's doing to us... well, criminal? Couldn't he go to jail?"
Naomi is bitter. "You going to sign the complaint, or sue him, Pet!" She wrenches at her handcuffs and the linkage to the wall. "Oh, damn and blast! To think I'd be fool-!"
Her self-recrimination is cut short by breakfast.
"Just one slice of bread each," says Gerald smugly. "Prisoners are supposed to be kept in a weakened condition.
But I've been generous with the water."
"You know what you can do with your slice of bread!" Naomi furiously fights her unaccustomed chains as though believing she can break them. "Gerald! Stop this nonsense now. What I'll-" But Gerald is gone. I picture the feast of bacon and eggs and toast and coffee he will be enjoying at my expense. The single slice of bread, pathetic on the floor, is insult on injury. I could weep in frustration, and by some strange chemistry of the mind become ravenously hungry.
Neither of us touched the bread.
We drink water, but to eat is capitulation. Emptily, we survey our day. "I wonder what the little bastard plans to do with us," Naomi mutters.
It is the sixty-four thousand dollar question.
We finger our chains. We have little else to do. Naomi's irk her. She is not used to being chained. They hurt her pride. I know she feels shamed. She does not want me to see her as she is. But Gerald has not thought to separate us, so I take her in my arms and comfort her. The idea that he might take one of us away or chain us to opposite walls is too frightening to contemplate. We make love in a sad half hearted fashion. I suspect a naked girl will do nothing well while she is chained in a prison.
"Sukie, tonight-if he tries to take you to bed. We mustn't let him. We mustn't-!" Naomi looks at me in desperation. "Oh shit! What the hell can we either of us do! We're so bloody helpless. If I ever get free I'll kill him!-I'll kill... I'll kill... Ohhhh!" She bursts into tears and buries her face in her chained hands.
Gerald returns. I can tell he is not surprised to see the bread. "Look what you've done to your sister," I accuse. "Let her loose, don't be so mean."
"Did she let you loose?"
"That's different."
"Not really."
"It is, and you know it is." I am ready to cry myself, and look up at him pleadingly. "Let Naomi loose and I'll be the best slave girl to you a man could ever want. I promise."
"Sukie!" Naomi's reprimand is muffled.
"You a slave for me with dear Sis running free!" Gerald sneers witheringly. "You are a slave, Sukie. What I intend is to make a proper slave of my beloved sister. That's where the kicks are."
Naomi peers above her wet fingers. "Alright! You've got me and I can't get away. Have your fun with me, whatever it is. But let Sukie loose. Maybe I've hurt your feelings, but she never has. Let her go."
"What we need here is some fine deep organ music for all this nobility," Gerald says sarcastically. "If you two turn on any more sacrificial offers I'll be crying myself. How about a good whipping to start you off on the right track?"
My darling retires into a hurt silence and sniffs angrily, but her eye flickers briefly over the whip left on the floor. Gerald intercepts and is much gratified by her tacit recognition of his power.
"Look, I want to-talk to you two. Hold the wisecracks."
He goes away and fetches a chair on which to sit and emphasize our lowly estate. We stand and glower, very conscious of our chains and nudity. We could use our hands to cover our puss or our breasts but scorn the shaming futility. Let him look!
"You won't go for what I'm going to say. But try and let it sink in. Might save you some grief."
We exude hostility. But his grin has become very wise and tells us in some indefinable way that he has grown older than we. He is allowing intelligence to show through his quasi-juvenile delinquence.
"Let's cut the crap, girls, and get down to the nitty-gritty. There's things you feel, you have to say, like: "Don't you dare."
"Just you wait 'till I get loose."
"We'll call the police."
"You can't get away with this."
"Haven't you any decency?". Gerald waved a dismissing hand. "Consider them all said."
"Don't be patronizing, Gerald. These chains are bad enough without a lecture."
Casually, in frightening slow motion Gerald picks up the whip and slashes it across his sister's astonished thighs. I can imagine how it hurts. Naomi curls up in agony but makes no sound. While she writhes and tends her wound he resumes his seat and resumes our indoctrination.
"You have reached a conclusion that I'm going to be mean and tormenting and give you a bad time, and that I'll screw Sukie once or twice and then go my way." He grinned at our dejection. "It isn't going to be like that."
Naomi and I exchanged glances. Our chains felt like a ton weight. We were frightened.
"Damn unique situation, eh! Might be my only chance. Figure it: I'm in a catbird seat most men would give half their lives for. I'm not like the ordinary kidnapper, I'm not going to jail afterwards."
I could sense Naomi was fuming with retorts. But the whip had hurt more than her thighs. Her breathing was heavy but she kept silent. A lash on a girl's flesh diminishes her.
"There's no hurry about this," Gerald continues. "I can probably keep you prisoners for months before something dictates setting you free. So I'm going to turn you both into slaves, my slaves. Serving me on your knees and glad of the chance."
"Glad!" Naomi's word held pure scorn.
"That's right. Glad because it saves your hides."
"You're going to whip us into submission? I don't pretend you can't. But is it anything to be proud of!"
"As much as most human endeavour. I expect to eventually be very proud of both of you, especially my beloved sister. I may even share my pride with others."
We stand in our chains, letting it soak in and surveying our future. It seems very cut and dried. I could weep for my darling. It is going to be so much worse for her than for me. I sense her wincing at every word her brother utters, and loathing her chains. I have a sudden practical thought, I make it humble.
"Please, Gerald, may I buy us out of this?"
"No. When I need money I'll whip you until you sign a cheque."
I can almost feel his lash, and wonder how I can make a cheque give an S.O.S.
"Any clever stuff and you'll wish you'd never been born, Sukie."
He has us, has us so beautifully and so simply it is devastating. We listen again. We have no choice. Gerald is thinking aloud.
"Sukie's already a slave. She won't like my slavery but she's inured. The really interesting psychological study is my dear sister. To watch how she reacts to being flogged by her kid brother, hung from her thumbs by her kid brother, kneeling in total submission before her kid brother, and being well and truly fucked by her kid brother."
The silence is a very terrible silence-a void.
Naomi sinks to the floor and starts to cry. Her tears spell her brother's victory. Gerald enjoys them avidly.
I am bereft at my poor darling's misery. She has been told something too terrible for any girl. I have to try, I have to.
"Gerald, I'll be the best slave ever. I'll make you happy. Honest I will. Torture and fuck me all you want. I'm beautiful, aren't I! Beautiful enough for any man."
"Good try," Sukie. But you're not my sister."
"But that's perversion... incest!"
"My cock's no different to any other man's. You'll have lots of chances to find out."
"Don't do it to her, Gerald. You'll hate yourself afterwards-and make us hate you. We don't hate you yet, save something out of this."
"I've got it all, Sukie. It's wonderful."
"Just keep Naomi prisoner then-while you enjoy me. Me, Gerald, I'm a beautiful slave. I scream and screw gorgeously."
"Oh, I believe you, Sukie. But you miss the point. I want to punish dear old Sis'. She's got it coming. I think I know the things that will hurt her most. Screwing her certainly heads the list."
"It's no good, Sukie. Give up. He's going to do it." The words are a broken whisper from behind Naomi's hands.
"Sensible little girl when she wants to be, though I expect that cut on her thighs helped," Gerald approved. "Now, you've got the general outline. Any questions?"
It is absurd, but it is happening. We have been briefed on our fate worse than death. We may now ask questions about our tortures. The bitter silence is punctuated by Naomi's tears which she is trying hard to stem. I cover up for her by asking a question that seems a bit too obvious to offer hope.
"Please Gerald, your sister and I aren't going to be silly. It's a terrible shock for her but she's accepted that you'll do what you said. May we both... sort of surrender. I mean we'll do everything you want. We won't struggle or fight or say things to hurt. If we're good little girls like that there's going to be no need to hurt us. I mean, punishment things... "
For a moment I thought I had him. His face softened, but it was only an approval of me, Sukie the slave girl. He was going to enjoy me without animosity. He was saving his hang-ups for Naomi.
"Sorry, kid. Your darling Mistress is for it, the full treatment. She'll emerge purified. Each punishment will winnow the chaff from the corn. She'll be so sweet and kind you may have to find yourself a new Mistress to whip your little bottom."
It was Naomi's turn. "Are you really going to torture me, Gerald?"
"Yes, love, but nothing messy."
"Don't make Sukie watch... please?"
"But that's half the fun. For all of us."
"Gerald, in between what you're going to... to do to me, to us, can we be covered-at least a little?"
Our master is hugely amused. His laugh makes us blush.
"You girls sure do hate to give a guy a bit of pleasure. Those tits and twats! Like money in the bank, aren't they. The answer is no."
Our chagrin must be obvious. It prompts Gerald into another serious effort. "Look, kids, this is something men wonder about and carry a grudge over. To have a look at a girl's breasts or her cunt means a lot to us. It isn't just prurience, it's a natural urge. And what's so wrong with it! What's it cost you! We have to pay two bucks for a slick mag' to get a picture of what's under your wonderbra. Hell, your panties now are good for nothing but to cover your slit, so we buy a gatefold of an open quim. Same principle as prohibition when they bought a fifth of scotch from their bootlegger."
Two naked girls in chains are now considering all Gerald's propositions very respectfully. "We don't ask to have a look at yours," I offer tentatively.
He guffaws. "Who wants to! If you know a sillier looking object that a man's prick I'd like to hear about it. We're ashamed of how they look ourselves. Hard or soft they're ridiculous."
He is right. Naomi and I have often giggled and wondered how men manage to walk around. But I suppose they're handy to pee through.
"Well O.K." I concede. "But will you let us pose for you-I don't care how degrading or intimate it is. Let us show you everything, even our clits. Then when you've had a good look can we have a little something... anything, even one of those panties you joked about... even a diaper?"
"What's with you, Sukie? You've been naked for ages."
"Naomi hasn't. Give her something."
"No. My sister's cunt is going to get a good airing."
We know defeat. The question period peters out. Gerald saunters out and leaves us. How beautifully simple for him! We are chained, we cannot follow. We must stand or sit in our dungeon. If he left the door open it would make no difference, our chains do not permit us to go that far. They hold us within a few feet of the heavy rings to which they are locked. Damn, damn, damn! And why, oh why, oh why!
We perceive the awareness of Eve in Eden after the apple. We had been two girls, now we are two cunts, four breasts, two bottoms, a pair of navels and sundry female parts-all for the delectation of hot male eyes and the kiss of whips. We cannot leave our chains alone, they bother us. Their links seem so trivial against the awfulness of the bondage they impose.
"Sukie, stop worrying about me. Stop taking the brunt. I expect I'll survive."
"You are not a slave girl, Mistress. This is so wrong."
My cheeks are patted, I am kissed. There is the clink of chain. "No more Mistress, darling. Drop it. It hurts. We had something so good.
"He must not do that to you."
"He'll tie me down, Pet. Spreadeagle, I expect. Or use a threat against you to compel me. He'll do that with us both."
The net tightens. I can feel it. We are enslaved, owned, captive! And by a monster! We do not know that yet. Perhaps he is all bombast and by tonight we will be free, but we do not believe...
Gerald now carries one of our unkinder canes. He is very brisk and regards us with a self-satisfied possessiveness. We are his. He unlocks me from my ring and leads me to the opposite wall, a chained chattal. There I am locked again, there are rings everywhere in our dungeon.
"Don't want one of you jumping me when I'm not looking." His remark is aimed at his sister.
"Jump you! Oh, Gerald, like this!" Naomi holds up her chained hands.
"No, not like that, love." Gerald chuckles. "I've had a cute idea."
His cute idea is easily executed. He chains Naomi to her wall by another collar such as I wear, then takes her shackle and her cuffs. She stands naked and free save for the prisonment of her neck. When he unlocks my wrists I am the same, but on the far side of the dungeon. We cannot join forces against him. Standing in our collars with their hanging chain tether to the wall we are more frustratingly captive than ever.
"You will call me Master," says our teen age delinquent. "And you will obey me with alacrity. That's a good word, it means you jump to it when I speak."
We shuffle uncomfortably, hating him. Hating our collars.
"We're going to practice a bit of self determination," Gerald says grandly. "That's a goodie for you. I'm starting your training. Every time I give an order you yourselves determine whether you obey or take the consequences."
Naomi and I exchange glances, we could happily murder him.
"Careful girls! I know what you're thinking. Thoughts are punishable in the new regime."
I could cry. The rotten twerp is going to frustrate and humiliate us into the ground.
"Sukie, you're trained in obedience. Hold out your hand."
I hold out my hand.
"Not like that, stupid! Out to the side, palm open and up to be caned."
I accord him a grudging respect. Gerald knows what will humiliate a girl. Having our hands caned lacks the drama of the whip but hurts every bit as much. He is going to turn us into sobbing little naughty girls. I reject my instinct to fall to my knees and beg. He would love that and punish me harder. I hold out my hand as directed. Naomi watches with distended eyes.
Gerald gives me the whole bit per Victorian fiction. My palm is tapped with the cane, lifted up, pushed down. There is much measuring of the stroke to come. Then he hits my hand.
Naomi caned me once on my hands, a giggly experiment we had forgotten to repeat. But it was not like this. This is an inferno of pain that sends my wounded hand to be hugged beneath my armpit while I bend double, my chain falling down over one shoulder. I know I can never bear another.
"Oh Sukie!" My darling's agonized exclamation comes to me as from a far place. There is the rattle of chain.
I suffer in a silent chamber in which my gasps and small sounds of pain are absorbed by those who watch. I meet no eyes. I want to curl into a ball and die. My hand burns furiously.
"And now the other, Sukie."
Gerald's bland demand demoralizes. I want no more. Had my Mistress spoken the words I expect I would have shrinkingly obeyed-but Gerald, a man! Ugh! I look up and see Naomi's stricken face, and stumble towards her for comfort. But I have forgotten my collar, the chain jerks back my head in brutal authority. I retreat.
"Out with your hand, Sukie."
There is steel in Gerald's voice. He is a King. I gather my wits.
"Please, Master, I'm not sure I can keep it there to be hit. Please don't strike me so hard."
The boy who is our Master motions impatiently. Hastily, I hold out my other hand and endure the preliminaries. The cut is just as bad and sends me writhing.
"And now, dear Sister!" The young male voice is solid gloat.
I am nursing two hands beneath two armpits, but I raise my eyes. In fascination I gaze upon what I do not want to see.
It is so wrong for Naomi, so hard for the poor darling. It is bad enough for me to be caned by Gerald-but his sister! It is like watching a stage play. Gerald happily flexes the cane. "Come along, little sister."
Naomi makes no sound. Her agonized nursing of her hand is all the more terrible for the silence. She stands, naked and hurt, staring at her brother in disbelief at what has happened. She is heartbreakingly lovely.
"Tickle a bit, bit sister?"
She does not answer. By what I know to be a supreme effort of will she allows her injured hand to fall limply at her side. She stands simply, a girl chained to a wall. She stared at her brother with an infinite contempt.
"Well, Sis', you've got a pair of 'em, haven't you?"
Her breasts rise and fall. Slowly she lifts the hand as yet unhurt. Somberly, she watches the innocent palm receive it's preludes. When the savage cut slices her she sinks to her knees with a moan of anguish and despair and hugs her pain. Gerald has hit her so cruelly I cringe.
The Master stands and looks down at his handiwork. Crouched and sobbing, Naomi pays unconscious tribute to her lord. Gerald is in some strange heaven of his own. When his sister's sobbing subsides, purpose reclaims him. He taps her shoulder with the cane. "On your feet."
Naomi stands and looks at her Master without hope. We will try not to plead. We will not excite him with pretty pictures of naked maidens begging mercy of their executioner. It is a pathetically small weapon but we will use it.
"Let's try you for size, Sis'. An obedience test. Giving me my proper title you will expose and handle your assets and name them."
It won't be nice for me when it is my turn, but for Naomi it must be torture. However, Gerald's cane has made us compliant. We will hate ourselves but we will obey. I watch cringingly as Naomi approaches as close to her brother as her chain will allow. When it begins to drag on her throat she stops and faces him. Spreading her legs she handles her pussy lovingly and thrusts her pelvis forward obscenely. "This is my cunt, Master."
It is cruel and wrong. Gerald is enraptured. Returning to a normal stance, she cups her breasts. She cannot lift them, they are as firm as my own. But her punished hands caress their contours. "These are my breasts, Master." She flicks her pink buds. "And these, Master, are my nipples."
He should be shamed but he is not. To make his own sister do and say these things! I hate him, I hate him! Whatever susceptibilities I have toward the male do not extend to Gerald. The knowledge that he will fuck me is loathsome.
A girl's inventory in dictated by men. Naomi is not done. She backs into her tether and, turning, bends forward. Her tender hands separate the cheeks of her bottom. "This is my anus, Master." Straightening, she pats her seat. "And this, Master, is my bottom."
"What's your bottom for, Sis'?"
Gerald is a complete bastard, merciless. His rapt enjoyment of what he is forcing his sister to do robs us of hope. There is no shame in him. His sudden question leaves me stuck. I am not sure what answer he desires. I can think of chilling retorts, but they would not be wise. I expect Naomi's response is prompted by her fear. "My bottom is for caning, Master."
"I wouldn't have thought you had it in you, Sis'! Here I've been playing little brother to your big haughty sister act, and this was waiting for me all the time. Hot damn! How'd you like to ask me to cane your butt?"
"Whatever you wish, Master."
His erection is plain to behold. Naomi is so beautiful in her submission that I have forgotten my pain and am myself consumed by lust. If I had a cock it would be very hard. Our Gerald is a showman with a sense of timing and a determination to keep us off balance.
"Sukie, I want you to bend over and ask for the cane. Just a sample to remind our anxious girl here how it's done."
I am about to arrange myself when Naomi protests. "Gerald, not Sukie! Her bottom's been terribly punished not long ago."
It is a fearful mistake. We both know it. And it will not save me. Naomi squirms and looks desperately around as though longing to flee. "I am sorry, Master." The imploring look she gives her brother is sincere.
"Two counts, Sis'. Using my name and talking out of turn. Ask to be punished."
"Please punish me, Master."
"That's better. This one's going to be a sort of corrective reminder. Lay on your back, then raise yourself by your arms and legs. I want your thighs wide open."
It is cruel and beastly and impossible. We all know what he intends. Without a word, Naomi achieves her grotesque shame, her pussy gaping.
"Ask me to whip your cunt."
"Please, Master, whip my cunt." Her request is a monotone of misery.
Gerald whips his sister's sex with fierce intensity. Only a single stroke but with all his strength. The leather splats across Naomi's puss and sears her tummy. She screams and writhes upon the floor, her posture shattered. We watch her pain. What else can I do?
"Think that may help you to remember, Sis'?"
"Yes, oh yes! Thank you, Master. I'm sorry, I didn't mean-" Naomi's pitiful humility is a measure of her abandonment of hope.
"Right on! Now ask me to cane Sukie's bottom so you can get some hints on deportment."
It is like a blow. I see her flinch. But Naomi is fighting for the survival of us both. Her words have no vibrancy. "Please, Master, whip Sukie's bottom so that I may learn how to behave."
The male is rampant in pride and sex. I touch my toes and plead: "Please, Master, cane my bottom that Miss Terrace may be edified."
He is very cruel. Wicked awful blows that drive me off balance. My chain clinks its tribute to each shock. If my bottom could scream it would do so loudly. I make strange sounds of which I am ashamed. When he contents himself with three strokes some of my relief seeps through into my degrading: "Thank you, Master."
Gerald is immensely pleased. But I do not really count. His venom is for my darling. I rub my bottom sadly while I watch. I have three new ridges of proud flesh. To be caned when bending is bad, bad, bad.
"Well, Sis'? What was the word she used-'edified'? I hope you were: 'Yes, Master," She is choking with fury. But she picks up the message in his eyes. "Master, please cane my bottom."
Naomi is heartbreakingly gorgeous in her sweet humility. Quite absurdly Gerald and I are both carnally affected. He shakes his head and drops his cane. "O.k. sis'. Request granted. But you've given me the damndest hard. I have to fuck someone, I'll start with Sukie."
My darling will hate to watch me fucked. For her it is the ultimate abnegation, but it does not matter much to me. I expect I had better give good service, so I will close my eyes and pretend the prick inside me belongs to Reese Cottrel. I have a nice puss. It will outlast Gerald. I lay down, arrange my chain, and spread my legs.
He is experienced. He would be! First he gets a cushion for beneath my hips. When he enters me it is with practiced skill. As his thrusts become rhythmic I can imagine his names for what he is doing to me: "hosing", "reaming", "raking my ashes". Men have thought up no pretty names for what they do to us all. I dare not look at Naomi as I am fucked.
"Say, kid, you're good!"
I know I am good, and that his tribute is sincere. He had not done me the honour of removing his clothes. He had fucked me from his zipper-no doubt a gesture of contempt! His diminishing weapon glistens from the orifice. It appears I am not through with it.
"Here, Sukie, clean it up."
I know what he means. I hope Naomi knows too, and understands. I take this thing of my impalement in my mouth and deal with it competently.
"Please, Master, please!" It is Naomi's cry of agony for me.
"She messed it up, Sis'. What she's eating is mostly hers."
I stop as soon as I dare. It would be all too easy to arouse him again. I tuck the thing away and zip up his pants. I suppose I am an accomplished whore. With Naomi watching I feel like one.
"Want me to tie you for the cane, Sis'?" Gerald is big hearted.
"Why?" Naomi is confused.
"Because you're going to get more than three and I'll insist you hold position."
"I don't know. I really don't know. I've never been-" She breaks off and bends to touch her toes. "I'll try. I'll do my best."
I know what will happen but I am powerless. No girl can take a caning on her bent stretched skin beyond a minimal count, the pain is beyond bearing. I watch the vivid weals spring to life on the exquisite flesh, and I hear the choked sounds that tell of Naomi's battle to be brave. But at the fourth cut she screams and crumples, writhing on the floor. Once more I forget my tether and get my neck tugged back by my collar.
"Poor show, Sis'. You got a tender butt?"
She heeds him not, but a tap with the cane drags her back to punishment. The face she turns up to him is pitiful. "I'm sorry Get-Master, I didn't know. I... I... Please, Master, must I be caned more?"
"Of course."
"I can't bear it!" My darling crouches, chained and naked and wealed, glimpsing the impossible. "If... if I have to be caned again I think I'd better be tied."
"O.K. Go and get some rope."
"I can't, Master, I'm chained."
Gerald feigns annoyance. "Well, I'm not going to. Nothing here'.'" Pooi-dear Naomi, she visibly squirms at what she must do. She points to the discarded handcuffs. "You could fasten my wrists to a ring with those, Master."
Our Master accepts. He chooses a high ring, no doubt to prevent his victim contorting on the floor, and contrives to thread the handcuffs through it so that an open band dangles from each side. He waves grandly in invitation.
I am sure it is one of the hardest things Naomi has ever done. It would be hard even for me. She visibly hesitates. But her collar makes her captive, the handcuffs are only one more degree. She lifts her wrists and positions them within the jaws. Gerald snaps the m tight. She stands, a white statue facing the wall.
"Have to hit you harder, Sis', since you're not bending."
Her pathetic "yes, Master" is indeed his pound of flesh. In a swift arc he slashes the twin chubbies with a vigorous gusto.
Naomi gets ten. It is a brutal and unnecessary cruelty on a virgin feminine bottom. He could have initiated her less harshly. She abandons heroism and kicks and squirms and screams as the pain dictates. Before the tenth has left its wound-the lout with the cane has another firm erection. Naomi hangs from her wrists, sweating and sobbing.
"You sure do make a fuss, Sis'."
The white shoulders twist futilely. She had nothing to say.
Gerald is riding high. He gives her a fine brotherly pat on her tortured seat. "I'm going to make coffee. Won't hurt you to stand awhile. When I get back I'll give you the best fuck you've ever had. Damn decent of me to give the two of you lair shares." Briskly, he leaves us alone.
I cannot reach my love. I can only stand and curse the sad and sorry pickle we are in. Naomi is in pain, I leave the first words for her.
"Oh, Sukie, he'll do it. I know he will."
I know it too. I long to give comfort. There is none to give. "It's only a silly business everyone makes too much fuss over," I offer inadequately.
"You love it, Sukie, I know you do!" She manages a half turn against the handcuffs so that she can look at me. "But I never have-not with men. Ugh! And now with... with my-"
"When this is over, please punish me for loving it, Mistress. I don't want to but I can't help it."
My silly request gets a small smile. Naomi wriggles, seeking a comfort she will not find against that wall. "Sukie dear." Her voice is muffled by shame. "We're both being so damn humble it hurts. Is it doing us any good?"
"I don't know," I admit. "But it keeps him pleased instead of angry. I'm afraid our sweet submission gives him an erection. But maybe anything we do... "
We talk. Two lost and frightened girls in a strange land. Maidens vanquished in battle, the spoils of war now made receptacles for lust, carrying the victor's sperm within, his weal without. When our captor returns we fall into a resentful silence.
"Want coffee, kids?"
Naomi's hands are unlocked, we take our cups and say a polite thank you. No doubt the stimulant will help us bear more pain.
"Ready to be fucked, Sis'?"
"No." And then, hastily: "Master."
"Relax and enjoy."
"May I be tied, Master?"
"No." He clips her hands behind her back in handcuffs. "Lay down." My darling lays down on her arms and spreads her legs.
While it is done to her, I weep.
CHAPTER EIGHT - TWO CAPTIVITIES
I suppose, for Gerald, it can pass as humour. Certainly it is ridiculous. If we were happy we might laugh, but we are not happy. A thing Naomi and I have hated in the day and night now past is his rummaging through our possessions; but we cannot stop him and dare not protest. Our hurts have made us humble. He has found something we had once bought but never used. We thought it quaint and amusing. We wish we had burned it.
Gerald has taken a lot of trouble with this object we must bear. He even had to chain me back beside my love so that we could lay down side by side to receive the infliction that so amuses him. Now that he has tugged the last lace and buckle and knot, it is possible for Naomi and I to sit up and examine the single boot in which my left leg is encased from toes to twat beside her right. Our feet, our legs, our thighs are squashed warmly together within their leather envelope.
They cannot move.
But the boot is not enough, not for our Master. Gerald has also discovered the single glove, a cute item Naomi has used on me often enough, but which now accommodates my left forearm and her right. Before we are through with this notion we will know the viewpoint of Siamese twins. In order that we may not use our free hands to loosen our limbs they have been linked behind our backs by. wristlets and a length of chain, a quite short length. We are neatly foxed.
"Rough on a pair of Lesbians."
(let aid is right. But it is good to be together, even like this. We do not tell him so. He wishes us no joy.
"You can stew awhile, girls-so near and yet so far!"
When he has gone, Naomi moans. "I could kill him! The bastard, the little bastard. Oh, Sukie, my brother!" She tugs at her half free hand and pulls mine.
I long to touch and comfort her gently. Our flesh is joined but it is not the same. I understand her desolation over Gerald, he is her sibling. To me he is just a loutish boy experimenting with cruelties and prurience. But it is his youth that makes us fearful. He possesses two naked girls, for him the sky will be the limit.
"We've just got to escape, Sukie."
We gaze at each other ruefully, and by straining hard against our strange bonds manage to kiss. It is a sad small meeting of our lips.
"Oh shit! If we got out of these" laces and straps and things he's still got the collars on our necks. Think we can stand up in this contraption?"
We try, and actually get a giggle out of the effort. We are so ridiculously and absurdly helpless. The boot is of stout leather and does not yield to our knees. By each doing a ballet dancer's split we edge upward but fall half way. The strap joining our elbows at the top of the single glove is strong and tightly buckled. If one of us falls the other follows.
For something to do, we try again. We cannot hurt ourselves too much. It is a togetherness and we share a wry amusement. We are still at it when our jailer returns, he watches our struggles with enjoyment. He carries one of the longer whips. "Great minds think alike, kids."
Gerald unlocks our chained wrists so that each of us now has one hand and arm untrammeled. Next, and much to our surprise, he takes the collars from our necks. We finger chafed skin gratefully. The collars and their weight of chain are a punishment.
"Bit of exercise, eh, little darlings."
We catch on, but without gratitude. We remember the three-legged race at the school sports.
"Up you get, girls. Smart now!" He makes an unpleasant sound with his whip.
Even now that we each have a free hand it is not easy. Until we hoist ourselves erect our legs in their leather prison are a handicap. They stick out like a single obdurate pole. Our lack of enthusiasm is chided by the flick of Gerald's whip on our bare backs. With all our bonds gone except for the glove and boot our skins are nicely available for his attention. We heave mightily.
On our feet it is better. At least it would be if it was not for what our Master has in mind for us. We pay him respectful attention and feel silly in our weird bondage.
"I'm the ringmaster, kids. You go 'round and 'round."
Gerald cracks the whip. We take our first step and fall over. Our Master flicks our vulnerable skin happily while we again struggle to the vertical. This time we achieve a sort of amputee stumble, our free arms out to each side as though walking a tightrope. The whip encourages us to take this exercise seriously.
"I'll have you doing a brisk trot before we're through, girls."
We do not believe him but he proves us wrong. Perhaps it is our love that puts Naomi and I into a manageable rhythm. We are soon doing a fairly competent three-legged walk 'round the dungeon. I am sure Gerald's lavish encouragement with the whip helps enormously. There is nothing like an incentive to keep a girl on her toes.
"Put on a real good show and I'll reward you both with a good hard fuck," our Master promises magnanimously.
He loves to use the word. It shames us so and is his cruelest authority over his sister. He is disgustingly virile. I have been fucked three times so far, and Naomi twice. I suppose I should be flattered by the extra attention. The whip snaps across my back.
"O.K. You can walk. Now run."
We have to try. Our joined legs will not bend. The brutal boot reduces us from nimble maidens to a pair of cripples. The single glove in which our arms are laced is a thing between us, we cannot clasp. Now we are on our feet our free hands are frustratingly useless. Under Gerald's watching eye we are not going to use them in a bid for freedom. We increase our tempo and fall down.
Falling down gets us nothing but stripes. Gerald's whip is very busy with us while we struggle erect. We fall often before we perfect the jerky trot that satisfies our Master. We go 'round and 'round the dungeon and start to perspire. It is hard work. Inside the glove and the boot we feel our mashed flesh wet with sweat.
There are rest periods in which we are allowed to stand, panting. Conversation does not flourish. Everything was said yesterday, our pleadings, are worn threadbare. Repeating them earns stripes. Gerald has told us what we are and what we may expect. We are slaves. He is our Master. He will use us as playthings, pretty feminine recipients of pain. Whenever he feels like it he will plant his seed within us and we must give him pleasure in the act. His whip is arbiter in all disputes. Understanding flourishes.
"Too bad we don't have bits and bridles for you kids," Gerald mourns. "Up and at it, girls. Briskly... briskly."
We are working like horses for the young bastard. He smirks as we go round and 'round under the compulsion of his lash. Even when we do not deserve it we get savage little flicks that sting bitterly. When we actually lag, the lash slices our backs professionally. For us there is no escape and no hope. We wonder if he will recognize exhaustion when he sees it.
In one of our breast heaving intermissions he leaves us alone. Naomi and I turn to each other in a single impulse. In ten minutes we might be free! Dare we... dare we? Our eyes rove the knots, the buckles and the straps. But Gerald's brutalities have made true slaves of us. We are frightened. We can guess what he will do to us if he catches us half way to freedom. Quite likely he is listening beyond the door, hoping to catch us in the act. Ashamed, we do no more than finger our quaint bondage. As the time lengthens we begin to wonder. But no doubt he is just testing us, laying a trap. We tell ourselves this as our excuse for cowardice. When he returns he gives us a quick inspection.
"Hot damn, thought you'd be loose and gone by now."
We flush, ashamed. We will never know the truth of it. But we deduce from his wide grin that he has something in store.
"No bridles, no bits, no nothin'. Pony girls ought to have a little touch of class somewhere."
Our respectful attention is expectant but not pleased.
"Found these in the kitchen," he says casually. "They ought to add just that right something."
We survey the spring clothes pins and guess their use. Gerald savors our dismay.
"Nice little exercise in control, girls. First you stand still and stick your tits out to get them on-I'll do that job for you. Then you keep those pretty little hands away from 'em. You wear 'em and like it."
It is as he says. We hate our obedience but don't know what to do about it. We console ourselves with the thought that there are worse things for a girl than wearing a clothes pin on her nipple. It is a thought instantly rejected as we turn our first breast to have our nipple rubbed to erection and receive the biting snap of the small domestic demon. The pain is ten times what we thought. We gasp and flinch and look at our Master in agonized appeal. To turn our second breast is not easy but we do it. We are becoming very well trained.
When four breasts have been decorated, three pairs of eyes examine the result. Gerald with his own hungry lechery, Naomi and I in our usual disbelief that this is really happening. We squirm and twist against the increasing burn of our twin inflictions, and fight down the hands that rise instinctively to take them off. the pins themselves have strong springs and stick out pertly from our breasts in small cruel pride.
"They're a real work of art," Gerald muses. "Right on. Makes you look like you're with it. Get going."
Our jerky motion that Gerald calls a trot was not designed for a girl with clothes pins clipped to her breasts-or maybe it was! At any rate each step we take endows our new ornaments with life, they bob and bounce perkily on our nipples and double their pain. Our progress 'round and 'round is now accompanied by gasps that have nothing to do with fatigue. It is as though we carry four little torturers with us all the time.
The next thought is inevitable. If four is good, eight is better. Gerald is entranced with our distress and our erotic twistings we can't control. His absence this time is short, he knows for what he seeks.
"Legs well apart, girls."
With us as we are the plural is inapplicable. Awkwardly, we are obliged to separate our one free leg as far from the boot as we are able. It is a teetering business in which the other must give support while Gerald fumbles with the lips of our pussy to find the most painful yet stable anchorage for the clip to bite. As each nips our flesh we make demeaning sounds that are part of his reward for enterprise. When four clips are safe and busily biting the soft moist warmth that is us, Naomi cannot keep silent.
"Master, we can't run like this! We can't possibly."
"Why not, Sis'?"
"Well how can we! I mean-"
"You mean with clipped cunts." He enjoys his sentence. "Oh Gera-Master, the pain's beastly. And on our nipples too."
"Never know 'till you try, kid."
So we try. I am afraid it will always be the same with us. A girl can do anything, suffer endlessly. A girl's capacity for pain is astonishing... and frightening. I suspect it's something to do with childbirth; we have special equipment. Naomi and I embark on our new agony.
It is very beastly and very painful. The clips on our pussys get plenty of action as we do our hobbled run. They move back and forth and hurt us every time. All the clothes pins have a malignancy of their own. Even when we stand still they continue to bite on and on.
"I'm a nice guy," Gerald says handsomely. "Take 'em off."
We are suspicious of largesse, but obey with alacrity. Our free hand makes it easy. The agony of each parting makes us gasp. From the pain you'd think half our skin goes with the clips, but this is not the case, they have simply melded with our flesh and hate to leave. Each of us holds four clips and looks at our Master with questioning gratitude. Our respite lasts the usual time until our breasts stop heaving. Then our Master's command is terse.
"Now put 'em back on."
Gerald is one up. We have not foreseen this small subtle cruelty. We should be pleased that it is our fingers and not his, but we are not. Confronted by what we must now do we are dismayed. We will do it but it takes much fortitude.
"Stop stalling, girls."
The whip snickers back and forth upon our thighs as we busy ourselves with our own torture. We do it all while flinching and twisting. It is hard for a naked girl to stand still beneath the lash. With loving care we cup each breast and clip our nipples, but since we have only one hand each we have to burrow the open jaws into our pussy in order to position them and release the spring. We manage enough gasping and wincing to send De Sade into transports. Gerald's eye is more critical.
"Your right tit, Sis', you've got it too far back. Get it just on the tit alone. It hurts more."
My darling makes the necessary adjustment. I look down at my own appendages to decide one is not quite right. I correct my own while she is doing hers. Our Master nods in approval. The whip snaps and away we go with our burning nipples and tortured twats. We are giving Gerald much happiness.
Fortunately our Master tires of the game. We have long been tired of it. We stand before him, sweating and gasping and, of course, hoping. Thoughtfully he takes the clips from down below.
"Be amusing to fuck you while the others stay on your tits, don't you think?" he asks us genially.
So the time has come again! We wait to be freed. We have not yet grasped the enormity of Gerald's depravity.
"Lay down, kids. Get yourselves set."
He cannot! Surely he won't do such a thing. I joined to his sister and she to me! Here is the unanswered question about Siamese twins. What happens when...
"Gerald, you mustn't-" In her shame Naomi has forgotten. Her brother uses the cane on her bottom. Brutal strokes that send us to the floor in a hurry.
"Master, I'm sorry. I forgot. But please!"
Gerald deftly cuts the sole of his sister's unprotected foot with his cane. Naomi screams and doubles forward to hold it and moan.
"You said something, Sis'?"
"No, Master, no."
"You first, Sis'. How about asking me for it nicely. I get the feeling you're not all that keen?"
What a bastard he is! And how helpless are we! I shudder at what is to be done, but see no escape for us. My breasts burn as a constant reminder of what I am. Naomi admits her own defeat with the shaming request. . "Please, Master, will you fuck your sister?"
Her phrasing earns her two across her back. "Try again, Sis'."
"Please fuck me, Master."
Gerald is satisfied, and lowers himself slowly on his prey. My darling and I find we must make adjustment to accommodate this obscenity. I pull my left leg in so that she may spread her right leg out. Prudently, she has already extended her left as far as it will go. Her pussy is open. Gerald is rigidly rampant.
I don't know what to do. I cannot leave this incestuous coupling which I must share. Because of our bondage I will feel every quiver of my love's degradation. Shall I shut my eyes! Shall I turn and watch! The question is answered for me.
"Keep your eyes open, Sukie. You'll watch. Get it, watch!"
So I watch! I am curious about the clothes pins, how will he deal with these things sticking up from our breasts! But to Gerald they are no problem. He enters his helpless slave girl and pumps away at her while he looks down and admires the clips which give her pain as he gives her what should be pleasure but is not. No doubt he finds his own interpretation of her moans and the sensations she is receiving from her breasts. His excitation is strong and brings Naomi's travail to a swift conclusion.
We girls often wonder about male virility. We presume it varies. Right now I have been wondering if Gerald is equal to the task he has set himself. But I need not doubt his ingenuity. When he withdraws after his grunts and groans he makes us sit up whereupon Naomi is confronted with his limp organ at the level of her eyes. In total acceptance of defeat she takes it in her mouth. By the time she has dealt with it there are again signs of life. It is next offered to me. Without gratitude I carry on where she left off. She has cleansed it perfectly already. My task is regeneration. I must be good at it, for quite soon it fills my mouth and is rock hard.
Naomi now does for me what I did for her. We thrust our legs this way and that to accommodate my lord and Master between my thighs. His entrance makes me gasp and I know my usual guilt in passion for the male. My scalding breasts turn from agony to joy.
I am incorrigible and long for Naomi to whip me.
When he has done with me Gerald is replete. For the moment he has had enough of girls. He locks our collars on our necks once more, tells us to do what we please with what we wear, and goes away.
For a little while we know only shame at what has been done to us and what we have seen. But our need of each other is very great, with our free hand behind our loved ones head we draw close and kiss and kiss and kiss in female joy that we are alone and have each other. So great is the intensity of this emotion we forget our nipples and their punishment. It is not until we stop for breath that we laughingly pluck the hateful things from each other's breasts.
"I suppose we ought to keep a tally," Naomi wryly suggests. "Some girls do. What's it now: three for me and four for you. I suppose I'll get used to it. Dammit, I expect I already have. We girls are doormats, we're ridiculous."
We have become accustomed to the boot and to the glove, just as we had become accustomed to the clips on our nipples. "Think the twerp means it, Pet? About "what we wear'."
We decide he does. If we get punished then we get punished. We must show a little courage sometimes. We go to work on the straps and the laces and their knots. Even with a free hand it is far from easy. The purposeful effort is good for us. By the time both encumbrances have been cast aside and we are massaging our limbs we are also giggling. It is so very good to be free! For the moment our collars don't count. For us, escape has become an academic improbability. We hold each other very close and glory in the feel of female flesh.
All things end. The reign of King Gerald the first over his two female subjects comes to its finale with an appropriate flourish of drama and when we least expect. Naomi and I are still in the flush of our recovery from his ravishing and our fatigue from our three-legged trot when Colin Denholt opens the dungeon door and beholds us with a pleased surprise.
"Thought you'd be around somewhere."
We are stunned, but ask the demanding question. "Where's Gerald?"
"He the young punk I've got tied up in the closet?"
Mr. Denholt is large, thoughts of him disposing of Gerald are entrancing. But we are puzzled. Everything is crazy. Tardily, we cover our twats.
"Bit late for that, I'd say." Mr. Denholt's humour is dry. "What's with this Gerald?"
"He... he fixed us like this. We've been prisoners. Gosh, are we ever glad-"
"Not that pleased to see me last time, I recall."
"Well-" His grin is understanding and sardonic. "It's just luck I decided to give you another try. No knight errantry. When the kid slammed the door in my face I put my foot in. Figured there was something odd." His grin is enigmatic. "Mind if I look around?"
He does not wait for an answer, but leaves us speechless. He also leaves the door open so that we may hear echoes of his progress through the apartment. We cannot follow him. We are chained to the wall. We exchange wide-eyed glances of surmise and turn to the doorway. We decide it is a bit late for modesty and take our hands from our pussies.
"Nice place you've got, ladies." His grin is wise. "Lovely rooms, marvellous equipment. Have yourselves a time, I'll bet. I take it the punk was an accident... occupational hazard?"
"An accident, Mr. Denholt." My Mistress is beginning to once more feel like Miss Naomi Terrace. "If you'll get us out of these collars we can dress and tidy up and enjoy a drink together?"
"We could, couldn't we." His tone is academic.
"The key is probably in Gerald's pocket."
"I have it here." Colin Denholt holds it up for our inspection. "Searched him. Best to play safe." With a thoughtful air he returns it to his pocket. "You're a couple of damn beautiful girls."
"Thank you. The key?"
"Eh! Oh yes. You want me to let you loose."
"If you please."
"You know I'm not going to, don't you?" I suppose we had known it from the first. A girl senses things in a man. Colin Denholt laughs at our woebegone faces.
"Disappointing for you. But you won't be bored. You can guess why I came?"
We can guess. But Naomi asks dully. "Tell us."
"A second try. You got under my skin. Made some enquiries. Found out you were right about money. Sukie's got more than I have, she even owns the building-which explains a lot. Only thing to do was just barge in and play it by ear. Seems to have turned out well." He chuckled, surveying us with laughing eyes. "Hadn't expected to find you both naked and chained all ready and waiting."
"We're not ready and waiting, Mr. Denholt. We've been brutally used and if you've any decency you'll set us free. We'd be willing to talk."
"Sorry, Miss Terrace, no decency and nothing to talk about. We have a fait accompli. I intend to whip you both."
His blunt honesty is frightening but gives me a chance. "Mr. Denholt, it's me who's the slave girl. You know that. It's me you wanted when you followed us home. Let us loose, and let us all get civilized, and then I promise I'll delivery myself and you can whip me as much as you like."
His grin approves, but his voice is firm. "You could have sold me that, Sukie, but not now. Her Ladyship here needs a lesson, and for that matter the two of you are a pair of cock teasers. You go out in public glorying in your power to give men wet pants. You owe us."
He has a case, but we are both so tired of punishments and the trumpetings of male egos. We have had enough. I brush away a tear and fear there will be others. Naomi and I have become accustomed to defeat. We maintain a dismal silence.
"I look at it as a job I have to do-get it off my mind. Get you two off my mind. A good sound thrashing, it won't take all that long. Afterwards, while you're amenable, I may consider using the key."
"So you can fuck us?"
He shrugs. "The spoils of war." His shrewd eyes roam. "What we need now is a way to fix you for the whip."
It is logical that my idea is his. He finds handcuffs and Naomi and I soon stand facing the wall, our hands locked to a ring above our heads. Mr. Denholt has thoughtfully draped the chain from our collar down past the front of our shoulder and under our raised arm so it will not hinder his use of the whip on our nakedness. We are very naked indeed and shockingly aware of it. He searches and finds a whip he approves. We offer no suggestions.
"Would you have any feeling at all you have this coming?"
We understand. He is curious, and he wants justification for whipping us. Conscience gets kicked around in strange ways. Naomi answers him. "Sukie doesn't deserve it. I suppose I was a bit cold and haughty, so whip me and leave the poor girl alone. She's been whipped too much already."
We peer back fearfully over our shoulders. Mr. Denholt is a large handsome man, his arm will be strong. We are probably in for the whipping of our lives. We are scared. But he is unfailingly polite.
"So I noticed. In fact you've both got a fine collection of marks, some of 'em old. But you've got an option, y'know. The way you're fixed you can turn 'round and face me if you'd sooner get it on the front."
"What, with that whip!" Naomi is aghast.
He laughs at her dismay. "I think I noticed in your collection. You've got special ones for breasts, eh. O.K. I'll be a good sport. If either of you want to turn 'round I'll go get it. It'll do for cunts too."
My darling turns frigid. "Thank you, Mr. Denholt, I'll take it on my back. I suppose you realize I shall turn this over to the police."
"Like Hell you will, sweetheart. I'm not going to kill either of you, just give you a good lacing and a good screw. You're not going to lay bare your pretty little nest for that."
Naomi sniffs. He is quite right, of course. We will not even do anything about Gerald. But we don't want to be whipped by Mr. Denholt... we just don't. Yet we are trapped, trapped, trapped! I give my girlish voice its full tremolo.
"Please, Mr. Denholt, don't whip us... please!"
For answer, Mr. Denholt whips me hard. After the fourth stroke he pauses to admire his captive maidens. I am making very sad sounds and tugging at my handcuffs, Naomi is wide-eyed and waiting, gazing at my distress and then back over her shoulder at the man about to whip her back.
"That was a damn corny line, Sukie."
"I'm sorry." I can sob that one out with sincerity.
He accepts my sorrow with good grace and turns to Naomi. "Come, Miss Terrace, aren't you going to wither me, or appeal to my better nature, or come up with another bit of corn?"
"It would do me no good," Naomi says wearily. "Please whip me."
I am sobbing, but I too have an eye over one shoulder. The effect of Naomi's words upon Colin Denholt is like a blow. His whip hand slowly lowers and he stares at her as though seeing her for the first time. As though stupefied, he requests: "Say that again."
Naomi has not caught on, she becomes even more formal in her outrageous demand. "Please whip me, Mr. Denholt."
She has touched him. My darling has unwittingly reached out and found his Achilles heel. What she thinks she is saying is whip me and get it over with. But Mr. Denholt has not picked it up that way. For a moment he studies her as though finding glory. Then, in his firm decisive way, asks: "Miss Terrace, will you marry me?"
I suppose us girls often give men a shock with our own particular view of logic. Colin Denholt's proposal nearly jolts us out of our handcuffs. He is privileged to behold two pairs of feminine eyes twisting, two feminine necks to look back at him in incredulity.
"I asked you to marry me, Naomi. Sukie is my witness."
"Why?"
"Because, in what you just said, you became the most beautiful and desirable female in the world."
"How?"
"You discovered yourself, discovered you were female."
"I simply asked you to whip me and get the agony over with."
"That's what you thought you said. It came out different."
"It's not much fun standing chained like this-that's what I was thinking."
"We can get married immediately. Where do you want the honeymoon?"
My darling realizes she faces a new problem. She wriggles against the handcuffs and the wall and manages to turn completely 'round to confront the strangest proposal a girl ever had. It hurts her wrists more, but I don't suppose she notices. She enunciates slowly, thinking aloud.
"If I say I'd sooner be whipped, you'll certainly whip me. But if I agree to marry you only to save myself a whipping that isn't too good either, is it?"
Mr. Denholt is undismayed. "Ah, I see your point. We're boxed in, aren't we! Suppose I just let you loose to make a free choice?"
It is as fair an offer as we can hope for. I am wishing it included me. I would accept. But Naomi is made of sterner stuff. Twisting unhappily in her chains she offers a solution I would not have thought of.
"I think you're excited, Mr. Denholt. Unconsciously, I have projected some eroticism that's touched you; it's probably not me at all but I can't see myself through your eyes. As for marriage... Sukie and I belong together, you know that." She grimaces wryly. "I'm not much of a bargain."
"I want you."
"At this moment, yes. But, tell you what. Whip me as you intended. Then... do that other thing to me. You'll find that then you'll go away with an easy mind... satisfied. But please don't hurt Sukie any more."
Refusing to meet anyone's eyes, my darling turns back to the wall and presents her back and bottom for the whip. Colin Denholt gazes at her loveliness, stricken. His voice is husky.
"You can't mean that... you can't."
"Please get it over with, Mr. Denholt. Whip me and fuck me."
"No one's going to do any such thing!"
The stern voice of outraged femininity rings through the dungeon. Three pairs of startled eyes seek the doorway. Framed within it is the diminutive but bristling figure of my Aunt Dee-Dee. Behind her and peeping 'round the door frame is the intrigued features of her slave girl, Poppy.
The whip falls from Colin Denholt's fingers. I emit a squeal of joy. My Mistress once more twists 'round to face an unforeseen development. Her voice holds life again.
"I think you'd better go, Mr. Denholt."
"I should think so too!" Aunt Dee-Dee's David glares defiance at Denholt's Goliath. "Out, sir! Out! Before I call the police."
Poppy's head retreats to make way for the striding male. My Aunt swivels her indignation upon my hapless Mistress. "How dare you make such an outrageous suggestion! Naomi, I am ashamed of you."
My darling wriggles and asks lamely. "Please, Auntie, let us loose. Gerald's locked in a cupboard somewhere." She turns to me hopelessly. "Sukie darling, try and explain... try and explain... " I try and explain.
"Ridiculous!" In Aunt Dee-Dee's sniff there is a note of triumph. "Both of you need a firm hand." She does not set us free.
CHAPTER NINE - THE ANKLET AND THE WIRE
It is a lovely cage with horrendous bars and an implacable lock on the barred door. It cost a great deal of money and occupies its own room in our apartment. Its tenants at this moment are two naked girls: Naomi and I. Our hands are tied tight behind our backs with cord. We are musing ourselves trying to undo each other's knots, but without success. Even if we succeeded it would do us no good, we are still locked in the cage. The key hangs tantalizingly upon the wall, well out of reach. We are angry, we are chagrined, we are righteously indignant.
"The old biddy!"
"The nerve of her!"
"We never had a chance, chained the way we were."
"Two helpless packages delivered to her on a plate."
"I could scream! It's a mean advantage."
"She didn't need to tie our hands."
We meet each other's eyes and laugh. This captivity is ridiculous but not as unpredictable as the one forced on us by the chastened Gerald, long since evicted by my avenging Aunt. For me, this cage is normal. Our perturbation arises from the fact that Naomi is in it too. Naomi is my Mistress, she should not be caged or tied.
"She's always wanted you, Sukie. Now she's got us both. I've a feeling she'll never let us go. What's more, she can get away with it. Young Poppy idolizes and is scared to death of her. We won't get any help from Poppy."
I look mournfully at my love. "Auntie's going to be unkind to you-I know she is! She's always been jealous."
"Stuff and nonsense, child!"
Aunt Dee-Dee has a gift for inopportune arrivals. She snorts at me admonishingly. "Jealous my foot! Naomi is simply not competent to train you properly. She is an inadequate Mistress. By the time I am done with her she will be a most adequate slave."
"Auntie!"
We are genuinely shocked. Unruffled, my Aunt continues. "You will be whipped daily, Naomi. It will help you adjust. I shall expect total respect from you both. You, Sukie, have been so recently whipped that, while your back and bottom return to normal, you will receive your routines and corrections on your breasts, your pussy and your thighs." My Aunt makes this sound like the disposal of the weekly wash.
"Auntie, you absolutely mustn't keep Naomi prisoner. It's... it's, well it's all wrong."
"I will be the judge of that, Sukie. Since you nibble each other's pussies you'd better be together. Incidentally, you will both be kept either chained or tied. I see no reason for a slave girl to need her hands. Poppy is well trained now, she can attend you. I have also given the dear girl authority to punish you both as she sees fit."
"Auntie!!" We are truly outraged.
"Don't you 'Auntie' me like that! You're a pair of young baggages who've had things your own way far too long."
"Auntie, let us out. Please!"
"When you are to be taken from the cage, you will submit yourself to handcuffs or whatever other restraint we choose. You will be secured through the bars before the door is opened. We will have no unseemly scuffles. Refusal to cooperate will earn you punishment."
"But, Auntie, how can you punish us while we're inside here?"
"Food and water will be withheld until you become amenable."
"Oh Auntie!"
"Yes indeed. Your 'Oh Auntie' intends to mould you into models of deportment. I will not whip you this first day. You can spend a pleasant afternoon suspended by your wrists-a time for reflection."
It actually happens. Poppy helps. Our hands are untied from our backs and retied in front. We stick them through the bars for this attention. Then Naomi is handcuffed to the cage while I am lifted on a box and tied to the bars above. When the box is taken my big toe is half an inch from the floor-it might as well be a mile. Then my darling is suspended in the same way. Our bottoms are patted lovingly and we are left alone. We never had a chance to escape.
"I didn't know it was this bad," Naomi gasps. "Oh Sukie, and I did this to you so often."
I am about to console my love when Poppy returns. She has been allowed to wear very brief panties, no doubt as a badge of office. The rest of her that we can see is well decorated with whip marks. She is bubbling over with happiness. "You both look so beautiful like that," she enthuses. She is an endearing child. "Are you going to let us down?" I ask hopefully.
Poppy giggles. "That's naughty. You know I'm not." She just has to share her momentous privilege with us. "I'm ever so pleased I'm going to be able to whip you. Isn't it lovely."
It is cruel to crush such naivete. We agree that it is indeed lovely. Her eyes sparkle. "And I can tie you up and... and, do things."
We agree we are all very lucky in this arrangement. Perhaps we are. Poppy's hand may be lighter than Aunt Dee-Dee's. At least she laughs more readily.
"Would you like me to put those clip things on your nipples?" she asks brightly.
We decline with thanks. Girls stretched and punished as we are feel no need for such ornamentation. But we get them anyway.
"Gee, your breasts are really pulled, aren't they! Here, I'll suck your tits to get them hard before I fix the clips."
We keep a disgruntled silence while our little helper's lips are busy on our breasts. It feels lovely while she does it and then we gasp with the pain of the things she daintily snaps on our rosebuds.
"Mmmm! they're lovely." Poppy is entranced. We are not.
"How about your cunts, dears?" she thoughtfully inquires.
We assure her of our pussies' content with their status quo. Poppy listens doubtfully. "There's some lovely dildo things, and simply huge vibrators... " We explain that in our present circumstances gravity is against us and that it is hardly the time for erotic stimulus.
"I thought it might make you feel nice." In a burst of frankness she adds, "I've always sort of wanted to shove things up a girl's cunt."
We suggest she try her own.
"Not quite the same though, is it." She seems to feel we are unappreciative of opportunity. "How about bananas?"
"We're not hungry."
"Up your cunts, silly! Not to eat."
There is a playful inevitability about the bananas. Poppy has evidently carried a latent longing. The fruit she provides is very large, very green and hard, and has long stems. We survey our impending impalement with jaundiced eyes. Poppy has thoughtfully provided Crisco.
"Open your legs like good girls."
We do not bother with the obvious sarcasm that good girls never open their legs. We open ours and plead for slow and easy.
"I do think this will be nice for you... and I've always wanted... "
A vivid comparison flits through my mind: Those two soigne sophisticates of the restraint and the silver bands... and look at us now! One may wonder what incredible secrets are hidden beneath a Dior dress. I wriggle and separate my thighs helpfully as Poppy studiously commences the insertion of my banana.
"You look simply scrumptious." Poppy clasps her hands and bounces up and down, enraptured by the consummation of ambition. "I've got them all the way in. You've both got such lovely cunts. There's just the bit of stalk sticking out." She giggles happily. "It looks just like a... a... you know, a what'sit."
We do know, but take no joy in our small protruding phallus. But we are thankful it is there. At least she will have something to pull!
"What on Earth is going on here!"
We are unsure whether we are pleased to see Aunt Dee-Dee. Most certainly Poppy is not.
"What are you doing to these girls?"
What has been done to us is very obvious. None present enter into detail.
"I said you could punish them as the need arose, not give them pleasure. Fetch me a cane."
We feel mean but take some comfort from the five cane cuts across our youthful jailer's bared bottom. Poppy marks and weals exquisitely. She also squeals delightfully under each impact. When sobbing slave and stern Mistress leave the cage we are bereft.
"Auntie, she's put clips on our nipples."
"So I noticed dears."
"And there's bananas up our pussies."
"That is quite obvious. I had not leaped to the conclusion you were cultivating tropical fruit."
That appears to be that. We are alone. The door of our cage is once more locked. No matter how we stretch our toes cannot touch the floor. Our wrists and shoulders hurt like fury. We settle in our punishment to enjoy Poppy's bananas. Our rosebuds burn.
We sleep in our cage. We wear handcuffs. From some sense of propriety all her own, Auntie provides us with a single blanket. It will be taken from us in the morning. As we cling close in the dark, Naomi and I consider the possibility we may be in this cage for the rest of our lives. Auntie Dee-Dee has got what she always wanted, she is un-likely to relinquish it.
"I got one for Poppy, so I bought one for you too Naomi. I had your measurements." Aunt Dee-Dee holds up the corset for us to admire through the bars.
Naomi blushes. "What made you think... "
"Well, you never know, dear. And now look, here you are! I'm so glad I had the forethought."
"Are you going to make me wear that in this cage?"
"Not really. I cherish the hope of social evenings. I do so enjoy Mateo's. With three such lovely slaves I shall bask in the envy of all."
"I'll run like hell," Naomi promises injudiciously.
"No you won't, dear. Stick your foot through the bars."
It is an anklet without padlock, slim and unobtrusive. I stick my foot out and get one too. Curiosity compels. It is not until we stand on the circled foot that we get the message. It was tight to start with but now it is doubly so, sharp points penetrate.
"Walk across the cage, dears."
We manage, but at the expense of pain. When we lift our leg the pain stops. "Alright, so I won't run," Naomi admits petulantly.
"They are quite a work of genius," Auntie admits complacently. "You'll only have to bear them from the taxi to the table, and then the table to the taxi. They won't hurt sitting down."
She makes no move to take the anklets back. We stand on one leg and wait for the next bad news.
"I've given some thought to this business of taking you out in public, dears. Sukie is no problem. But until I've got you properly trained, Naomi, I have to consider your natural instincts.
Poor Naomi! I know what conflicting thoughts must be hers. I wonder if Aunt Dee-Dee knows them too. My Aunt's pixie notions and her desire for me leave Naomi out in the cold, a very captive cold! I do my pathetic best.
"Auntie, please let Naomi go. She won't be happy as a slave girl. If you have to take me away from her I can't stop you. But she shouldn't be a prisoner, she just shouldn't!"
"Silence, Sukie! I know what is best for you both. Your former Mistress is excellent material for training. I intend to train her."
Naomi is looking at Aunt Dee-Dee speculatively. She too tries sweet reason. "Auntie, I've been fond of you, why spoil it! And as for this thing you've put on my ankle... well, it stops me running, but it won't stop me refusing to come back here as a prisoner."
"But you will come, dear."
"I could call my own taxi or, if I had to, ask the police for help."
"But you won't, will you, dear!"
"What you're really saying is that you'll do something horrid to Sukie if I don't toe the line?"
"Well, let's say Sukie will be happier if you're a good girl." Aunt Dee-Dee beamed at all present. It was easy to see she felt in full command. "Just think, darlings, can you see yourselves calling the police or asking some convenient male for help?"
She was right, damn her! My darling and I look at each other hopelessly.
"I do think, dears, I must help, and that's where the corsets and the anklets play their part. They keep you aware of the tightness of things. The bonds that bind a maiden to her fate need not always be visible."
For me this is wickedly so. For dear little Sukie there is no escape. For Naomi it must be cruelly frustrating. Naomi and I must have each other, we must, we must, we must! My poor darling is caught as neatly in Aunt Dee-Dee's spider web as I. Trapped in our loyalties, we fall silent. I rest my weight on my circleted foot and hastily lift it. My Aunt blows us a kiss and goes away. The bars of our cage seem doubly strong. With a shrug of resignation we sit back on the floor and finger the metal bands tight on our ankles. Aunt Dee-Dee has thoughtfully left them locked on us. No doubt they will engender a proper frame of mind!
"I'm so frustrated I could burst." Naomi lifts my banded foot, kisses it, and returns it to the floor. "I love your Aunt Dee-Dee, but right now I could cheerfully bop her. She's got us! Damn her, she's got us for sure." She holds up her handcuffed wrists, fingers her band, and lets her eyes rove around our cage. "We're a pair of cute little birdies she can do anything she likes with."
"Darling, if she really does take us out, escape. Do whatever you have to, but escape," I plead.
Naomi grins ruefully. "I'd look cute, wouldn't I! Making a fuss. Who's going to believe me, and if I really went to the police just imagine the sympathy I'd get when they find my corset and try and take off this rotten thing round my ankle. We're foxed, Pet, foxed for sure."
"If you got away you could phone Reese Cottrel."
"Sukie, I'm not going to leave you, not ever or for any reason. If I have to wear chains in this cage for the rest of our lives I'll do it."
We make love gorgeously, and for quite a long time are not even aware of the cage which keeps us captive.
* * *
Mateo's adores us. And why not! We are a delicious enigma. Aunt Dee-Dee is getting full value for her money, she basks in the veiled attention we receive. Undoubtedly we are of the very highest order of hetaera, with my Aunt the decayed noble woman who exploits our nubile attributes. Watching us sip our cocktails and converse, who is to divine the agony of three cruppered cunts.!
My Aunt had been cruel with that which we must bear between our legs, they are not the kindest of our corset's repertoire. Even young Poppy sometimes gets a far away look in her eyes as some slight motion enhances her pubic pain. We are three young women very rigidly controlled.
The corsets took hours. As Naomi and I teetered on our toes from our tied wrists, a bubbling and completely free Poppy aided my aunt with our encasement. When our second skins sheathed and reduced us totally I was permitted to give what aid I could in inserting Poppy into hers. When three maidens eyed each other wonderingly from within their prisons of lace and leather, plastic and steel, and with the punishing bands cinched tight within our loins, I am sure Aunt Dee-Dee could have handled the lot of us had we decided to rebel. Only Poppy was enraptured.
As we play our parts, I am still wondering what emotion it was which enabled us to walk with seeming unconcern to where we now sit. With one ankle in agony every time we placed foot to floor, some strange pride compelled us to a casual grace. I refuse to think about doing it again when we leave.
Poppy adores Aunt Dee-Dee. I am sure the child would endure any torture so long as my Aunt inflicted it. Poppy gazes in awe at we two senior sister slaves, one of which must be sternly dealt with. Poppy does not wear an anklet, she is a trysty.
My Aunt's evening at Mateo's has about it an inevitability, a progression discernable as it unrolls, yet impossible to foretell. The appearance of Colin Denholt is our first drama. He left before we have reached the first course. Pausing at our table, his eyes devour Naomi so that she actually squirms and Aunt Dee-Dee is able to squirt acid.
"Must you strip the poor girl naked, Mr. Denholt?"
He is unperturbed. "I'd like to whip all three of them," he confesses charmingly. "May I buy Naomi?"
"Please go away," Naomi begs.
"You do not have enough money to buy any one of them," my Aunt announces placidly.
"I suppose you've got them swathed in rope or wire or something shocking under those gowns?"
"That is none of your business, Mr. Denholt. Some corrective restraint is most vital with the youthful female."
"You could part with one of them?" he wheedles.
"Not to a man whose idea of a social hour is to flay alive his feminine guests."
"You exaggerate. I leave them their skins." He grins boyishly. "For use another day, of course."
"Mr. Denholt, please go away. I'm afraid of you."
He looks at Naomi with a terrible hunger. "My offer still holds."
"That's why I'm afraid of you," Naomi said unhappily. "Auntie, please make him leave."
But there is no problem. Colin Denholt smiles charmingly all 'round, and gives Poppy a wink that makes her blush. A moment later he is on his way to the door.
We relax and enjoy. Girls are pragmatic about happiness. Even corseted, we find joy in what we see and what we eat. With pussies punished we can still make rude remarks. Girls are resilient. We view Aunt Dee-Dee with a kindlier eye and think her evening a good idea. She is in her element. We drink our cocktails and our wine and become foolishly happy. It is on our way home that Fate slips us the mickey.
Taxis do sometimes slip through back alleys to avoid traffic. We scarcely heeded our change of course until it stopped half way so that tow huge hands could open two doors and grasp two startled girls. Naomi and I watched the taxi disappear with my Aunt and Poppy, and were about to remonstrate when our mouths were stuffed with a rubber ball, the strap of which buckles at the back of our necks. The huge hands are very strong. We are handled like dolls.
The wire is something new. It circles our wrists behind our backs and is tugged tight. It is a band of pure agony. Naomi had tied me, Aunt Dee-Dee has tied me, sometimes cruelly, but no bond ever placed upon my flesh is like this; it is a fiery horror. We gasp into the absurd balls that fill our mouth, if we could scream we would. But it is not until the single strand of wire is pulled and cinched to join our elbows that we are totally demoralized. It is like nothing I have ever known. I am certain my arms are cut to the bone and that I bleed. But above all I am encompassed and possessed by a degree of agony that drives awareness of other things from my mind. We have been kidnapped, but I do not care! We are being thrust into a car, but I do not care! There is the snip, snip of wire cutters as our wire bonds are made neat and secure upon us, but nothing matters-nothing! Only the pain, the pain, the pain!
"Nothin' like a bit o' wire to make 'em mind."
The gruff voice is right. We think not of escape, or where we are being taken, or why. Two pieces of wire within our flesh robs us of interest in anything except ourselves and how we suffer. We do not struggle and we will not struggle, it hurts too much. We would plead and promise sickeningly if we could, but that is denied. Naomi and I have wide lush lips within which the round rubber nestles above our tongues so that we drool shamefully and make only the smallest sounds of despair. The buckle is tight upon our necks. Everything is tight. We are painful packages being delivered we know not where.
"Wire their ankles, Sam?"
"Nah, we'd have to carry 'em. Little bitches can walk. Never knew one to fight once you wire their arms. Hey, girlies, you ain't gonna' fight are you?"
We shake our heads negatively. Most certainly we will not fight. Besides, what could we do! And what good would it do us! Thoughts of a wire round our ankles is threat enough.
These men must be experienced in the trade of hurting girls enough to make them behave. I have a fleeting need to tear away our gowns. We must look very pathetic and silly in our ruffled finery with gags and wire. From time to time Naomi and I lock eyes, but our gags inhibit smile or frown and allow only a mute grimace.
We should have guessed, of course! After the blindfold walk with hands heavy on our arm to make the wire hurt more, our eyes are uncovered and we blink in the bright light of Colin Denholt's study. We stand before his desk as prisoners at the bar. He smiles at us gently. Our kidnappers melt away and close the door.
"Miss Terrace and Miss Stevens, welcome to my house."
If he kills us he will still be charming. We offer him dribbles instead of pleadings. I long to tell him of the agony of my arms but cannot.
"Not much else I could do about you two," he said conversationally.
I turn my back to him so that he can see my wounded arms. I even hurt myself a little by wriggling so that he may understand my distress. But his voice holds only amusement.
"Won't do you any good, Sukie. I am without a heart. You may as well turn back 'round."
Tearfully, I obey. It is best to see ones enemy.
"You can keep the gags." It is as though he makes us a costly gift. "I know all you want to say, so there's no point in you talking. Going to be a nice change for all of us-me doing the talking. No cute cracks about 'please go away' and 'drop dead'."
Naomi and I twist our shoulders and moan wetly to make him understand our agony. His smile is most cheerful.
"Nothing like a bit of pain to make a girl human. You're both going to get quite a lot of it."
We are sure we are, but are presently absorbed by what we've got. He fixed Naomi with a benevolent eye.
"Are you going to marry me, Naomi?"
He accepts her negative headshake without visible rancour. "O.K., kid, I had to ask. You may have been right in your assessment. I'd still take a chance, but hell I've got you anyway, so why flog a dead horse!" He grins amicably. "A lot better to flog a live girl."
I cringe. He is so sure, and we are so sure too. We will be flogged, and goodness knows what else. It is why we are here. For Colin Denholt it is the purpose of our being; girls are for the pleasuring of men by suffering. Our screams are nectar, our whipmarks ambrosia.
"I'm gloating," he admits charmingly. "Pure gloat! You'll have to put up with it. But the last thing you two need is clothes-I'm sure you understand."
It is a tribute to the wire that we do not fight. The wire robs us of courage, of will, even of shame. We just don't care. Caring will come later but not now. Besides, there are our corsets! We stand while he strips away our gowns.
"I'll be a son of a gun!" Denholt stands back and gazes at our hour-glass silhouettes in pure awe. "That old biddy of an aunt of your sure knows how to keep a girl in line." He circles us admiringly. "How the devil d'you get 'em off?"
We emit negative bubbles. His minute examination of our persons leads him to a regretful conclusion. "Have to hack the damn things off you. A pity!" He brightens. "But I'll start with the cane on your bottoms. Something delicious about a corset and a cane-pure Victorian gaslight. Come on, I've got a games room, same as you."
We follow, not much caring. The pain of the wire is so great it robs us of perspective. We view his modern torture room with disfavour. It's purpose if to hurt girls. It is admirably equipped.
It is I who am to be caned first. I want to cry, I want Naomi's arms, I want the comfortable cruelties of my aunt. Instead, my ankles are strapped to the base of a low pedestal over which I must bend. When I am safely secured, the wire cutters appear.
"Sort of hate to take it off," Denholt admits. "Without the pain you'll start getting ideas. But I don't want to spoil the new effects I have planned for you." He grins reassuringly. "And after all, I can always put it back on."
The snip, snip is the most beautiful sound, even though the pain is momentarily doubled as he peels the thin metal from within my flesh. I have little hope of much freedom, so use what I have to examine and massage my wounds. I now possess neat purple bands at wrist and elbow. They nestle deep within the indentations in my flesh. There are only traces of blood. Rather than have to wear them again I will promise anything.
"You can remove your gag, Sukie. Now that the preliminaries are over, I want you sentient and screaming."
I have no cause for happiness. A girl about to get her bottom caned has little incentive to joy. Yet, for brief moments, I am irradiated with it as I use the glorious freedom of my arms to loosen the buckle and take the wet rubber ball from behind my teeth. Conscious of the absurdity of gratitude, I nonetheless say a meek and heartfelt: "Thank you, Mr. Denholt, oh thank you!" As I hand him the object of my torture.
"I expect you know what to do, Sukie."
I know all too well! I bend far over on tip-toes and place my hands within the waiting straps that are instantly buckled tight. I am now helpless, my bottom rears taut and firm. I am a corseted girl delivered to the cane.
Colin Denholt canes my bottom.
I have been caned like this before. It is very terrible. I scream heartily and with deep feeling. I am glad I am strapped tight and was not asked to bend over and touch my toes, I could never have held position for strokes like this. I do not think he is hitting me harder than I have been hit before, but he is a man. I do not wish to be punished by a male. To be caned like this upon my naked seat by Colin Denholt is an affront, a shaming thing to wound the thing Naomi and I cherish. Naomi is my Mistress. My bottom is hers to cane, not this man's! I can suffer Naomi's punishments-or even Aunt Dee-Dee's with a fortitude nourished by love. But beneath this harsh male cane I have no courage at all. I tug at the straps and moan and cry as the cuts slice at my femaleness.
He played with me before the first blow, his hands caressing my twin cheeks and exploring that part of my puss that pops up behind when I bend down. He had taken away the crupper strap as an interference to his designs upon my flesh, so I am revealed to him in full. Sometimes he contrives to slash a bit of my pussy. I am proud of my screams. But I painfully wish men would just fuck me and did not with to whip me too. I think us girls must be nice for men to fuck. I don't see why they love to hurt us too-that is a female thing on which they should not encroach. Colin Denholt's cane cuts steadily at my bare behind so that I am beginning to curl up inside. I am making a lot of beautiful noises I know he will love. But I make them for me.
When it comes Naomi's turn to be caned, my hands are tied behind my back with rope, a fine thin rope that cuts. If there are knots, I cannot find them. I am cheerfully told to watch and to enjoy the punishment of my Mistress, the girl I love. I am going to hate it, hate it!"
Poor Naomi! The wire compels her as it did me. She allows her ankles to be strapped tight without protest. She does everything I have done. Before she bends down to be punished she smiles at me with love. I cringe and wince as the cane beds itself within my Mistress. Naomi tries not to cry or to scream. Between she and Benholt there is a battle of wills I did not fight. Her struggle to keep silent doubles her agony. I have only to look at the intent features of the man who now owns us to realize his ecstasy. He does not keep it to himself.
"Feeling any more affectionate, honey?"
"No. Should I?"
"Bit different from a honeymoon?"
Naomi is incredible. She gasps as the cane cuts at her. Her voice is tremulous, but she articulates. "You'd have caned me anyway. You want a girl to whip, if she's your wife it's just coincidental. For a moment that day you saw me as submissive, but I'm not like that."
"Surely this thrashing must help you along a bit?"
"Oh sure, you'll break me, you'll make me crawl. If you keep hitting me like this I'll scream-that's what you want, isn't it?"
"You sure try hard to take the fun out of it, honey. But I'm not going to let you. Cot any more sweet reason to belittle me with?"
My Mistress screams. She has had enough-more than most girls could stand in silence. Now, as each blow wounds her she shrieks. I wonder if the man with the cane can detect the faint note of defiance that comes through to me. He canes the lovely pert bottom with methodical skill. Casually he casts his bait.
"If you ask me, in a civilized fashion, to fuck you as you are I might consider letting up on his cane?"
It is very cruel. I would say "yes" very quickly, but for Naomi it is different. Naomi does not like men in any shape or form. The last thing she wants is one of them inside her. But my darling is also shrewd and clever. She fights back with her only weapon.
"Mr. Denholt, would you be civilized enough to fuck me and bring my caning to an end. I believe I am held in a suitable posture."
"You're a clever little bitch," he concedes. "No matter what I do to you I'm going to wish things were different. Just my luck to fall in love with a lesbian."
My bottom flames with its own agony, but I am engrossed with what I see and hear. I do not even struggle against my tied wrists, I have forgotten them in my absorption with this ill assorted pair. Miserably, I watch Colin Denholt give Naomi extra strokes her surrender should have denied. She has tensed and ceased to scream.
"Just to get you warmed up, honey."
"I expect you will find me adequately lubricated, Mr. Denholt." Naomi is trying hard to match his cheerfulness.
"A girl under the whip secretes lavishly, I can't explain why."
"How's about I give you a dozen more, honey?"
"I cannot stop you, can I? Is there something more I should ask?"
He throws aside the cane. "Dammit, girl, you're quality. I'm going to break you, but I'm damned if I'll hurry about the job. Try this for size. You can thank me afterwards."
I watch my Mistress violated. It is beastly and wonderful. Obscene and incredible. It happens before my eyes. I do not wish to watch, yet do so and am ashamed-ashamed for both of us.
In the grip of post-coital depression, our captor ties Naomi's hands as mine are tied and puts us in his dungeon, it was inevitable that he possess one. Morosely, he locks collars and chains upon our necks. Our corsets still intrigue him.
'You both get whipped in the morning," he explains. "Give you something to think about. When you're strung up to be flogged I'll see what I can do about those suits of armour may have to use a can opener. In the meantime wear 'em. You look damn cute with flaming arses."
His final cruelty is that we are chained to opposite walls. But it is no surprise, men like Denholt hate the love of girls. Besides, we might have worked on each other's tied hands. He has ensured us an uncomfortable night: Bottoms half flayed, corset encased, hands tied behind our back, a collar round our throat, its tugging chain tethering us to the wrong wall. In the almost complete darkness we are two helpless wraiths whose voices are busy with tears.
"Oh, Sukie, I hate this! I hate for you to watch me degraded."
"Darling, it will make no difference." I long passionately to tell her of loyalty, of love, of my eternal need of her. That being pierced by Denholt is a thing meaningless to girls like us. She loathes it, I love it, but it will change us not at all. Denholt's cock is on a par with Gerald's or with Poppy's bananas. We suffer them for a little while and then our pussies perk and come alive for only us. I offer her my small sad hopes. "I'll try and provoke him into fucking me, Mistress, instead of you. Men like fucking me: I'm good. Besides, I'm a slave."
"Oh Sukie!"
"Well, it's best. I know how you hate it. What we have to worry about is his beastly whip."
"Sukie Pet, I hate that too. And I'm scared. I'm not near as brave as I try and act. You'll be ashamed of the way I'm going to scream."
"But darling, I scream too."
"Well, there's sort of a difference."
I manage a giggle. "Because I'm a slave girl?"
"I suppose so. Sorry, Pet."
"Darling, he's got it in for you, but I'm going to try and irk him enough to get the brunt of his-let's call it lust, that's really what it is. His whip won't change me. But he mustn't break you, he mustn't!"
"Sukie, I'm not going to fight him. At least, I'll try not to. I'm going to scream all I want and humiliate myself with his fool requests. I don't want to be whipped half to death. Forgive me, Pet, if I seem craven. But I have to cope with his feelings about me somehow."
I pour out my love and such comfort as I can. My poor words bridge the gap between the limit of her chain and mine. We strain to touch but cannot. Our necks are fragile things and our hands are tied and lost to us. Finally, in a pain induced weariness, we find what easement we can upon the stone and sleep. ft is morning. We have been fed and bathed. That this service was performed for us by a male is but another of Colin Denholt's amusements. I have never stood in a bathtub with my hands tied behind my back and had my face and pussy washed by a grinning man. But there is a first for everything. To ensure our subjugation, it is the two ham fisted abductors who strap our wrists to the bar and raise us on our toes.
"Lovely cunts, Ranny."
"Feel 'em up again before we go, Sam."
We are most adequately felt. They do not stop before we start to pant. Leaving, they wear broad grins. We would love to kill them both.
"I suppose this is it, Pet. Poor Auntie, she'll be heartbroken over these corsets."
"Will she ever know!" I voice a terrible thought we share. "Will Denholt ever let us go. Supposing he keeps us... "
"Don't think about it, Pet. Sure, he may be able to, but he'll tire of us-men are like that. Besides, there's your aunt. She'd chase you to the North Pole if she had to. My guess is he'll torture us into a pair of groveling little slaves and then toss us out, his male ego nourished by our submission."
"Oh, darling, look at us now! Oh Mistress... "
"Oh, I fully expect to have to stand like this for an hour while his lordship softens us up and builds the suspense. Oh, Sukie, you're gorgeous."
Naomi is gorgeous too. Each of us mirrors the other. We stand with arms apart and tied high to the bar so that we teeter on our toes. We are face to face about six feet apart. Each of us will be whipped from the back where there is plenty of room for the whipper to wield his lash upon our shoulders, our rib cage and our waist. The wire wounds are plain to see upon my darling's arms, our necks are chafed from the collar of the night. But I can understand our beauty, being female we wish to be, and will strive for beauty even in our pain.
We stand, waiting to be whipped, a long, long time.
Our Master is once more in good mood. He circles our strained torsos to check his helot's work, we are well secured. He is pleased.
"I'm curious," he admits. "You looking forward to this?"
"No!" Our unanimity is vehement. "Sukie. You?"
"No I'm not." My negative is sincere. I do not want to be whipped naked by a man.
"You two are a strange pair," Denholt muses. "A man can never be certain about lesbians. I suppose if Naomi whipped you, you'd love it?"
"Before and after. Not while it's happening."
He turns to Naomi. "And you, Miss Terrace, when you whip this sweet thing, you get a hot crotch?"
"Of course." Naomi's voice becomes ice. "So do you."
"Not half what I get when I whip you."
"Thank you for the compliment."
He surveys us both in mock puzzlement. "Are you scared or aren't you? Damned if I can tell."
"Mr. Denholt, does it matter. Sukie is accustomed to being whipped, and I am trying to keep up a civilized facade. Do you wish us to harden your erection with pleadings?"
My darling's studied politeness intrigues him. I have a fear it will earn her extra cruelties. Denholt will find intense sexual joy in breaking her. I try diversion.
"Please don't whip us hard, Mr. Denholt. I think it would be much nicer for you if you just fucked us."
"Oh, you do, do you?" He gives me his full attention. Do I take it a light whipping would get you wet between the legs?"
"Just me, Mr. Denholt, not Naomi. Please just whip me."
"Because your beloved Mistress does not like being whipped?"
I squirm. It is so hopeless. We are being played with, a pair of dolls suspended by their wrists for the pleasure of a man. I look at him pitifully and plead. "Please don't whip us, Mr. Denholt, please!"
He oozes a spurious goodwill. "So what do you suggest, Sukie?"
I squirm again. I hope the bastard's enjoying me! What a question to ask a girl! "You've caned us terribly, and made us spend a night in your dungeon," I point out timidly. "Couldn't that sort of be enough? I mean, you could let us go?"
"Come, come, girl, you know better than that."
"Well, let Naomi go and keep me. I'm nice to fuck and whip, you know I am. Please, Mr. Denholt?"
He laughs with real enjoyment, I have touched him. But not enough. "Dammit, Sukie, you're too good to be true. I'll have every man in the house fuck you as a reward while I devote myself to our haughty Miss Naomi Terrace. I'll make her watch you, she'll learn a thing or two."
"Sukie, stop it." Naomi's voice is almost a moan.
Colin Denholt is enjoying his mastery of us, our responses arouse him. He eyes our corsets. "Suppose we'd better get these things off you," he ponders. "It's a shame to spoil 'em, but-" His sentence is cut by a polite rapping at the door. The man who enters is, quite surprisingly, the perfect butler. He appears not to see two damsels suspended by their wrists, his attention is only for his Master.
"A person at the front door, sir. Perhaps the one... "
We detect an undercurrent. Denholt is pleased. "Show the person in, Denby."
"To this room, sir?"
"Right here, Denby."
The air is electric as we wait. Whatever transpires can scarcely be good news for Naomi and I, but it is a pause-and we are not naked! For once we are thankful for our corsets. At the opening of the door, we quiver, then gasp.
Our visitor is Poppy.
"Well, I'll be damned!" Denholt is as surprised as we. Whoever he might have expected, it was not Poppy.
"Get out of here quick, girl!" Naomi orders urgently.
My own contribution is futile. I just gasp: "Oh Poppy!"
The poor child has probably never been the center of such concentrated interest. She beams on friend and foe alike and produces two keys. "My Mistress sent me over with these. She" thought you might need them."
Denholt accepts the twisted bits of metal. "What the devil?"
"They're for our corsets and the band on our ankle."
Naomi's voice is flat.
"I'll be glad to help, sir." Poppy is right in there. Her eyes are shining.
It takes her twenty minutes to get us free of Aunt Dee-Dee's impositions. We will wear the wounds of the anklet for many days. It is so good to be free of these things I almost forget I am waiting to be whipped.
CHAPTER TEN - SLAVE GIRL
Revealed in our nakedness, pink from compression, Naomi and I stand stretched and exquisitely vulnerable. Once more, our Master makes his circle to admire our charms. Our breasts are tested and our nipples pinched, even our navel gets a finger poke.
"Aren't they simply scrumptious?"
It is Poppy's tribute. Her hands are clasped in reverence for our senior nudity and our correspondingly senior punishments. In innocence she shares her effervescence with the man who holds us captive. Her next question quivers with awe.
"Are you going to whip them, Mr. Denholt?"
"Sure, kid. Want to watch?"
"Ooooo! Could I?"
"It's alright with me, ask them." Denholt waves a generous arm.
"Oh, darlings, please? I mean, can I watch while Mr. Denholt whips you both?"
"Be our guest." Naomi's voice bodes ill for this enraptured damsel should we ever again be free.
Denholt shrewdly scrutinizes Popy's shining face. "Look, kid, is that all you got sent over for... those keys?"
Poppy shuffles. "Well, not exactly," she giggles. "My Mistress and I are safely settled in Miss Steven's apartment. The taxi man was ever so nice about taking us home after... after... well-"
"The truth, Poppy, out with it." Naomi is terse and tense.
Admonished, Poppy lets us have it with both barrels. "Well, the fact is your Aunt Dee-Dee sent me over in exchange."
Our Master is hugely amused. "In exchange for what?"
Poppy's eyes are large and innocent. "Why, in exchange for Sukie and Naomi, Mr. Denholt. You send them home unharmed and keep me instead. It's awfully kind of her."
"Kind?"
"Of course! I've never been whipped by a man-it must be lovely."
"You have to be kidding?"
"No. Honest, Mr. Denholt, Aunt Dee-Dee wants her Sukie back so bad-and Sukie can't go without Naomi. And I'd love to have a Master. It all works out beautifully."
"I'd flay you alive, girl.."
"Mmmmm! I do admire you so much, Mr. Denholt."
"I'd fuck you to a fare-ye-well."
"Oh thank you, thank you!"
"You ever been fucked, kid?"
"Well no, but I'm sure I'll do it ever so nicely." Colin Denholt slaps his thigh delightedly. "You're one for the book, girl. Never in my life-"
"Then you accept me?" Poppy's face is a beacon of joy. "Hell no, kid! Think I'm nuts?"
Poppy wilts. So do we. "But why not?" she wails. "I'm lovely to whip-ask the girls. Would you like me to take my clothes off?"
"Sure, go ahead."
She misses his irony, and busily strips. I can see from his face he is impressed. Poppy has a quality. She is sweetly young. She poses wickedly and swirls around on the ball of one foot. "There! Do you like me?"
He likes her very much, I can tell. But his voice is firm. "Where did that old biddy get the idea she could trade one for two?"
Poppy is unprepared for bargaining. "Why not, Mr. Denholt?" she asks, puzzled. "I'll make you a wonderful slave girl, I promise."
"Sukie's wonderful." Denholt laughs. "And I'm going to whip Naomi into being just as good. You're not better value than the two of them."
Poppy is bereft. "What can I tell my Mistress?" she wails. "She'll think I haven't tried." She cocks a hopeful eye. "Would you please write a note, Mr. Denholt?"
Colin Denholt knows glory, life is showering him with riches. He is surrounded by palpitating female flesh. "I'll do better than that, Poppy," he promises, his eyes glinting with amusement. "I'll send you back with the message etched on your pretty hide."
Poppy is uncertain. Some of her ebullience cools.
"Get under that other bar, girl."
She knows, and is uncertain whether to flee or to obey. Slowly, she positions herself. Her eyes do not leave the face of the man who will be cruel to her. "I'm not sure Aunt Dee-Dee will approve of this, Mr. Denholt," she ventures timidly.
He does not bother to reply, but fastens poor Poppy as Naomi and I are strapped. She is visibly trembling, but with more than a single emotion. Unwittingly, she adds a touch of pathos to our plight.
"If you're going to whip all three of us, Mr. Denholt, won't you get awfully tired?"
"I can always rest," he assures her cheerfully. "And we've got all day."
"Are you going to fuck me too?"
We detect a faint optimism in her girlish query. Standing naked on her toes, Poppy radiates intense curiosity. It is as though Marie Antoinette evinced polite interest in the construction of the guillotine.
"Fore and aft', if you like, kid."
"I don't think Aunt Dee-Dee would like that either." She gives him a chiding look of reproof. "That... that, what you said. It's awfully rude." She surveys her plight briefly and comes up with: "Does it hurt or is it nice?"
"Poppy, behave yourself!" Naomi manages to sound like my Aunt.
Colin Denholt goes to the rack and selects a whip. Three pairs of maiden eyes follow his movements with acute distress. We squirm.
Our time has come.
He whips our backs with the same accurate competence with which he had caned our bottoms. Since Poppy's bottom is not scorched as badly as ours, she gets the whip down there too. Colin Denholt's punishment room is alive with the whir and snickering of the lash and the responsive cries of maidens all forlorn. The quiet smile on his features as he flogs us is beatific.
In fiction, this scene would evoke grim and gruesome adjectival imagery, but in reality it is pure beauty. Three naked girls pay exquisite tribute to the male who moves among them with the whip. Our writhings and our cries are a choral response to our Master's skill in the striping of our flesh; our skins are vividly sensitive to the pain he bestows with such artistry. Ours is an agony of love for which there are no words.
The room is filled with the odor of our musk. We glisten with the sweat of pain. As I kick beneath each blow my thighs are lubricated. The sweet salt drops spring to life within my armpits and trickle down my flanks as the thong splats and bites across my back. Bitterly, though I may hurt, I do not fail to watch my love and to spare a glance for Poppy's athletic tugging and twistings against her firmly strapped wrists. Six breasts vibrate and change their curves as we struggle. Three pussies secrete their juices and implore the safety of moist thighs against the whip they dare not feel.
We are a trilogy of female anguish. Colin Denholt is our Mephistopheles. The whip marks his pact upon our skins; he owns us forever. We can never escape him. We are delivered into his own private Hades and must stay chained therein for all our days. The blows as they carve their wounds across our backs tell us this is so. But even though we are a trio of triced femininity our reactions are not the same. I cannot behold myself, but in anguish I see Naomi punishing herself with silence. She hopes it is a weapon to hurt the man who is hurting her. Poppy and I scream uninhibitedly, I wish she would do the same. I am a very well whipped slave girl and know how screaming helps. Poppy, too, has learned. Though I suspect that within her peals of anguish there lies a nice sense of drama. But my darling, my poor darling!
Our Master has whipped us impartially, going from one to the other of us in rotation. Now, with a grin set to his lips, he turns his exclusive attention on Naomi; he is accepting the challenge of her tight lips. Poppy and I moan ourselves into silence and hang from our strapped wrists. Our legs have kicked so much beneath the whip we might just as well have been fully suspended, our toes find the floor as though not believing it is there. In horrific fascination we watch Naomi's fate.
Naomi knows! I can feel her anguish, it leaps across the room at me as something tangible. She knows she is to be broken to the will of a man. She does not want to be broken. She does not want Poppy and I to witness what is to be done to her. She does not want-to scream.
"A little lesson in deportment, Miss Terrace," our Master suggests conversationally.
Naomi's face is piteous but she does not plead. Denholt whips her slowly and with care.
"You deserve special attention, Miss Terrace. Open your legs please." Naomi does not open her legs. The lash curls across her breasts. Naomi opens her legs.
The lash streaks up and slices her secret place. Naomi screams.
"Keep your legs well apart, Miss Terrace."
The thong cuts up into my darling from the other side. She screams gloriously and madly convulses.
"I am open to offers of submission, Miss Terrace?"
Naomi's writhings cease. She lifts a face on which there is no hope. "What do you want me to do?" I could weep at the lifelessness of her.
"As a start, Miss Terrace, you can verbally acknowledge yourself a slave and myself your Master. You can then request me to whip you on the places you least desire."
Naomi lets her head fall and says no word.
Colin Denholt whips her nakedness savagely. When her streams have become hoarse she manages to mutter: "Alright, alright, I am a slave."
Her whipping stops. Colin Denholt stands expectant, the triumphant male. Naomi gives a sigh that breaks my heart.
"You are my Master. I cannot fight you any more."
I can feel my darling struggle in revolt at what she now must say.
"Please whip my breasts and my cunt."
In savage happiness, Colin Denholt whips Naomi's breasts and puss. Her screams have become terrible to hear. I join my voice to hers.
"Stop it, stop it! You'll kill her."
He pauses, and turns to smile at me. "You would like me to whip your breasts and cunt instead, Sukie?"
"Yes. Oh yes!" I am distraught. "Mine too," says Poppy nobly.
His laugh is pure merriment. "You girls are an education. I wouldn't have missed this for the world." He grins at our surprise. "O.K. I'll tail it off. But my way, not yours. Watch this."
He confronts Naomi, but she gives him no chance to speak. "Please fuck me, Master."
"Good. You're coming along nicely. I'm going to let you loose and you'll give me a real whore's piece of ass. Then you'll ask me to fasten you again and give you five more strokes-you can choose your own spot."
"Yes, Master."
I watch in disbelief, but it happens. Naomi gives her lord full value for his stripes, I could have done no better. When he helps his whore to her feet she looks at him evenly and asks: "Please strap my wrists to the bar again and give me five more strokes with the whip." There is a longish pause in which they assess each other before she adds firmly: "Upon my cunt."
It is a small victory, but it is hers. She stands proudly and places her hands where she must, and watches them strapped again. When she is once more lifted up on her toes she screams lustily as her cunt is cut five vicious times. Then it is her turn to teeter on her toes.
Poppy and I are whipped intermittently throughout the rest of the morning. Colin Denholt enjoys us immensely. He whips us imaginatively and with finesse. We reward his cuts upon our breasts and our pussies with full throated feminine peals of pure pain. He is a very happy man. In early afternoon all three of us are taken to the dungeon. But not to rest!"
For a little while Mr. Denholt is a busy man. We would willingly spare him the trouble, but it is a labor of love. At the end of it three naked young women are wishing they were back on their bars and being whipped. Our new condition is far from happy.
Naomi and I are on one wall, Poppy is opposite. Our bondage is identical. I sit upon a narrow bar protruding a foot from the wall. My feet are splayed far out to either side and off the floor, each ankle is secured fast to the stone by metal clamps. My arms are lifted and spread and held tight by other clamps. The final indignity is a clamp about my neck which holds my head motionless. I cannot move, I just can't move at all!
It is a form of torture. The bar on which my pussy rests might kill or injure me if I was not able to support some of my weight against my clamped ankles. I can also tense the muscles of my arms and lift a few pounds there. But most of me rests firmly on my puss so that the cruelly narrow bar is well indented up into my loins. I hurt and hurt and hurt! And there is nothing I can do, I cannot move.
"Mr. Denholt's not as nice as I thought," Poppy moans. "He seemed such a nice man-he whipped me so cleverly. I say, girls, do you think our cunts will be ruined?"
"Don't chatter." Naomi wants to suffer in silence.
"But why's he got us fixed like this. It's not nearly as nice as being whipped?"
"It gives him an erection."
"But he fucked you twice, Naomi?"
"He is exceptionally virile-and a bastard."
Poppy is irrepressible, and cheated. "Why didn't he fuck me?"
"Look, girl, aren't you in agony? Sukie and I are."
"Well, sort of. But I don't see what Mr. Denholt gets out of squashing my cat on a chunk of iron."
"Ask him next time he comes to torture us. By that time we'll all be screaming."
Poppy is impressed by Naomi's desolation. She is a sweet child, and under Aunt Dee-Dee's tuition has become wickedly erotic. In a troubled voice she ventures: "I've just got to persuade Mr. Denholt to take me for you two. I know he'd like me if he tried. Aunt Dee-Dee will be awfully angry if I fail."
"You mean you actually want to belong to this absolute son of a bitch!" Naomi exclaims irritably.
"Well, he'd do a lot of things to me Aunt Dee-Dee doesn't know about," Poppy muses thoughtfully. "Just fancy being fucked! It must be terribly exciting to have a man push that great big thing up my cunt. I did envy you this morning."
"Do you envy us now?" I ask bitterly.
"Welllll, not really... but I sorta' expect I'm not hurting as much as you two. Maybe I'm built different. When he pushes his cock in the first time does it hurt much?"
She got no answer. Colin Denholt's return diverts us. His greeting is friendly and genial. "Well girls, how's the hot boxes?"
Poppy giggles. It is his only answer. "Just dropped in to gloat," he admits shamelessly. "Not every chap can see a trio of tortured twats at one go."
Poppy giggles again. "Oh, Mr. Denholt, the things you say!"
It is the right note. Poppy has latched onto his lechery. We sense this is his first serious look at her. It is an astonished look. "Dammit, kid, you're enjoying this?"
"You're terribly kind... " Giggle, giggle. "I'm so looking forward to you fucking me." Doe-eyed innocence implores. "And when may I be whipped again?
His eyes shrewdly seek sincerity, but his erection proclaims the potency of Poppy. His demand lacks conviction. "You trying to fox me, girl?"
"Oh, Mr. Denholt, if you're really believing I'd try that, I want you to put some more lovely marks across my boobs."
Denholt sighs. He frees Naomi and fucks her savagely to find relief.
"You did that because of me, Mr. Denholt," Poppy accuses reproachfully. "Please send them home and keep me always. Aunt Dee-Dee said to tell you that if you send them back with their hands cuffed behind their backs she'll relinquish me and won't ever go to the police."
Denholt is intrigued. "Why the handcuffs, kid?"
Poppy giggles. "She thinks if they're not helpless they'll push her out of the apartment. Then she won't own a single slave girl." She gives him her full optical treatment. "Auntie is going to the police today or tomorrow if none of us show up."
The seduction of Colin Denholt is masterly. Poppy transports him into her own erotic world, and instills in Naomi and I a hope we cherish. At the end of her witchery she remains safely clamped naked to his wall, and we are free. It is when we are dressed and have our corsets in a bag that he remembers. "This handcuff thing? Matter of honour, I suppose?"
We do not plead. Slaves to Aunt Dee-Dee is better than bondage to a male. We put our hands behind our backs for the bite of steel. Coats cover our captivity. We smile at an exultant Poppy with infinite love. In the taxi, Denholt presses a small key into Naomi's cuffed hand. "I don't owe that old biddy anything," he says gruffly. "But drop that key and you've probably had it for life." He is embarrassed over being kind. At our apartment door he kisses us both with a strange tenderness, rings the bell and leaves us with our thumping hearts.
It is easy to respond to Aunt Dee-Dee's kisses, they are warm and tender and it is so good to be home again. There are even tears. She takes away the coats and checks the tightness of our handcuffs. She does not query that our fists are clenched. I am frightened she will hear the pounding of my heart and be suspicious.
"Dear, dear Poppy!" She glows with success. "I knew she could do it. Men are so susceptible to very young girls-they think their cunts are tighter. Sit on the Chesterfield, dears, I'll hold your drinks up to your lips while we talk."
"Why are we handcuffed, Auntie?"
"What a silly question, Sukie love. You have to be. There's no telling what Naomi might decide to do if she was free."
My darling sighs and gazes woefully at my Aunt. "Please, Auntie, don't carry on with this unkind business of keeping me prisoner. I don't want to be a slave girl."
"There, there, dear!" Auntie holds the glass to the pouting lips. "We'll get you naked as quickly as possible after these drinks and then you'll feel better."
"Auntie! I don't want to be a slave. Set me free."
"Don't take that tone with me, dear. I'll give you a nice whipping in a little while, it will put these silly notions out of your mind."
"We've both been whipped half to death already."
"It will be different coming from me, dear."
"But, Auntie, how long do you intend to keep me prisoner?"
"Why, for life, Naomi love, and Sukie too."
"Wouldn't you be satisfied with just a month?"
"You do need whipping, dear. Mr. Denholt hasn't looked after you properly. You are both my darling slave girls for life. I'm so glad you're properly handcuffed. And it was nice of him to return the corsets and those lovely anklets and their keys."
I giggle. It is a sweet girlish giggle as a prelude to a maiden need. "Auntie... I have to go! I expect Naomi does too... " .
We are depanted by tender hands. "Can you manage, dears?"
We assure her our handcuffs will not bother us at all, and trip lightly to the bathroom. When we return, our hands are free. It is not until we pick up our drinks that she notices we are no longer captive. She looks and looks, then seeks our eyes. What she sees there is more than she can bear. Aunt Dee-Dee weeps.
"We would have been so happy." Sniff, sniff.
"I would have trained Naomi-so beautiful a slave!" Sob, sob.
"I'm so lonely." A cocked eye seeking sympathy. "I'll just have to be satisfied with your offer of the one month."
"That was made when we were handcuffed, Auntie, not now."
"I would have been so good for you both. You need someone."
"We just want each other, Auntie."
"Can I come and visit sometimes?"
"Of course, but Naomi stays free."
It is both sad and silly and a little tender. We pack Aunt Dee-Dee's bag, phone the taxi, and impel her through our door. There is much kissing and hugging before the elevator takes her from our sight.
"I feel like a bitch," says Naomi angrily. "If Dee-Dee hadn't sent Poppy, that bastard Denholt would still be torturing me. Now she's lost Poppy as well as you and me."
"She'll find another Poppy, darling," I console. "Besides, you can always lend me to her for a week-end. I always come back from those week-ends nicely marked."
My Mistress regards me with lambent eyes. "I'll never let you go again, Sukie. Never, never, never! Get rid of those clothes and bring me handcuffs. Hurry."
Joyously, I run. I am a little shocked by the weals my nakedness reveals. I have been ferociously whipped and caned for the pleasure of a man. I an suddenly deliriously happy. I kiss the handcuffs that will make me what I am. I hand them to my love and turn around. My arms obediently go back to greet the cold metal circling my wrists. There come the old familiar clicks...
"Welcome home, slave girl."
I sink to my knees and rub my cheek against the thighs I will moisten later with my lips. If I had my hands I would clasp and hug, but slaves rarely have their hands and I have learned to show my love without. My puss is on fire and I want to purr. Naomi's fingers gently find my hair.
"You saw me whipped, Pet."
I have known this moment must come. Before my eyes, Naomi has been humiliated and defiled. My poor darling is bereft by this destruction of her Mistress image. I nestle closer. "He whipped me too, Mistress. And soiled us both. When we bathe together it will be gone."
Her voice is tragic. "It's an illusion, isn't it... that we are what we are. A man can do what he likes with us. With his prick and his whip and his muscles he makes pretty fleshly playthings of us. Oh Pet!"
"No! Oh no!" My vehemence is real. I long to use my hands to give her comfort. "Denholt is gone. There's only you and me in the world. Darling, keep me chained always and punish me often; I need you. If I attract men in public, whip me terribly."
Naomi stays silent, but I feel her relax. I burrow my head into the soft warm juncture of her thighs. She is clothed but I hear the quickening of her breath. Quite soon she gathers a handful of my hair and leads the way.
Water is symbolic, it stands for purity. I am well soaped by tender hands, and even though my arms are held behind my back, we gambol and cavort in the huge tub. Both our skins are cruelly and wonderfully marked in ways we will wear for weeks. Our bath becomes a baptismal font in which we are purified and made female. The man marks on our flesh will go away. The one's that will replace them on my flesh will be of woman.
"I love you."
We say the lovely words spontaneously in unison. I am taken to our bed and my ankle chained. We give each other the adoration of our lips. When we are replete we bathe again, and the sweet hands of my Mistress glorify us both with feminine witcheries. It is then I must: "I have not been a good slave, Mistress. Whip me."
"No, Sukie, there's no skin left on you to whip."
"Yes, there is, Mistress."
Her nostrils flare with desire. "But, darling, it hurts too much."
"Do it, Mistress." For the moment I an strong.
We both know it must be done. It is a ritual, a rite, a union. So we do not speak when I am taken to The Room and laid face down upon the blanket on the floor and my ankles tied immovably to the small but awful frame, so that the soles of my feet stare up, imploring the bastinado. I cannot move them at all while they are beaten with the slender rod.
I know my darling needs my help. Long ago she promised never to use the bastinado on me. "I want it, darling. I want it... want it!" I implore urgently, grinning up at her over my helpless shoulder.
Naomi kisses me. She is trembling. "I want it too, Pet." She pats my cheek. "We're a wicked pair." She bastinados the soles of my feet with firm competence. I scream delightfully. My agony is a flame of love.
The ringing of the phone coincides with my last stroke. When Naomi returns I have got my sobbing moans under control. I know I will never walk again but I do not mind. I look up at my Mistress inquiringly.
"That was Aunt Dee-Dee." She grins ruefully and shakes her head. "We are invited to a dinner at Mateo's one week from tonight. I hadn't the heart to refuse."
"I won't be able to walk."
"Yes you will, silly. We're going to go. We owe her." My Mistress grins guiltily. "I promised her you'd be in your corset."
"Oh darling!"
"With a crotch strap good and tight."
"Oh Mistress!"
"And I thought it would be nice if I lock the silver bands on you." My puss perks. I am possessed. I am terribly happy. .
