F Campbell - Drusilla

It was like making a purchase in a store. Drusilla tensed against her restraints, not bothering to ask if her choice was irrevocable. She was sure it was. “Go easy on me, Bryce,” she begged. “I am a novice, remember.”

Bryce did not bother to answer. Watching, Drusilla was willing to believe his arm might have swung harder. But when the short, tough thongs lapped her bottom she was by no means sure. It hurt like blazes! Her bottom blazed under the stroke.

“You took that remarkably well, ’Silla.”

“I bloody well have to, don’t I!” Drusilla exclaimed bitterly between gasps.

The second slash brought home to the strapped woman her frightening immobility. The strap round her middle was punitive. No matter how hard it was struck, her bottom and hips would move no fraction. They were displayed in total vulnerability for her punishment. It didn’t seem fair. Surely a girl should be allowed to wriggle a bit while receiving such pain! “You’re hitting me awfully hard,” she offered dolourously.

Bryce’s next blow evoked a gasping cry. It was by far the worst of the three. It burned Drusilla’s tightly fastened bottom with pure venom.

“You were mentioning something about hitting you hard?” Bryce insinuated slyly.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry! Forget I said it.” Drusilla was in full retreat. The demonstration was convincing. She longed to clutch her wealed flesh.

“You find the original impacts preferable, dear?”

“Yes! Oh jeepers, yes!”

“Perhaps you’d like to ask nicely?”

How easy it would be to say something! But how unwise! Drusilla gulped and swallowed pride. “Please, darling, whip me the same way you started. I’m sorry I interrupted.”

“You feel your tawsing humane?”

“Oh, of course—oh, yes!” She longed to smite him.

“Would you care to ask me to continue?”

“Oh. dammit, Bryce, must you have your pound of flesh? Must you rub my nose in dirt?” Drusilla could contain her humiliation no longer.

If number three had been frightful, number four was pure nightmare. The tawse splatted on the prisoned flesh with the full force of a man’s arm. Drusilla screamed, but part of her peal of agony came from shock and outrage. The room was quiet except for the panting female breath.

“You were saying, dear?”

It was a polite inquiry, moderate and urbane. Drusilla debated whether to scream again as her only vent for frustration. But she deemed it late. It would be misunderstood. Her response was urgent.

“I’ll be good! I’ll behave! Honest!” And then, in a small, pathetic voice: “I’m sorry I was smart ass.”

“That’s better, sweetheart. And I think you still wish to make a request?”

“Oh, yes—of course! Yes! Will you please whip my bottom the way you—like those first two?”

“The ones you complained about?”

“Yes, dear. I’m sorry about that.”

“Your beef was ill founded?”

“Was it ever!” Drusilla’s exclamation was heartfelt.

“You realize I was letting you off lightly?”

“Yee-e-s-s... ”

“You don’t sound all that certain?”

“I am! Oh, I am! Please whip me like that!”

In the momentary suspense awaiting the next stroke, Drusilla had time to marvel at the words she had just uttered. Their humility was both laughable and frightening. That they had emerged from her own lips would have been incredible a month ago. That they expressed only a deep sincerity was a thing of wonder. She had just asked Bryce to whip her in a certain way and been anxious that her request be granted. How crazy could a woman get?

Number five was admittedly more bearable. Bryce had returned to the rhythm of his original blows. Drusilla found she need not scream. She fought the straps but did not move. The effort was a substitute for writhing. Diana’s cane had inured her to shock. She held panic at bay while her immobilized bottom received her punishment. She was completely absorbed by the pain as the tawse slashed and seared and extracted responses from every crevice of her being. But she could not fail to know her punishment was moderate. Diana’s cane had been more cruel. With Bryce she was simply a naughty girl being reasonably whipped. The tawse was teaching her a lesson. Everything fell neatly into place within the context of what she and Bryce had set out to do. She counted the strokes silently. Surely it would not be more than ten! Drusilla clutched at the round number with an anxious hope. When it passed and the tawse continued to scorch her skin With eleven and twelve she was about to utter a resentful plaint, but was stopped by her husband’s announcement.

“Thirteen! That should be about right for a start. What d’you think, sweetheart?”

Drusilla schooled herself to caution. She was very helpless and very naked. “I expect it is,” she ventured noncommittally.

“Not sure, darling?”

“Oh, Bryce, don’t tease. I’d have been glad to stop at ten—or even five.”

“Your bottom’s beautiful.”

“It doesn’t feel beautiful.”

“How does it feel?”

“As thought a fire’s burning on it.”

“But you’re not dying?”

“All right, Bryce, you’ve proved your point. I can be whipped and survive. If you’re a little bit kind about laying it on I can manage not to scream.”

“I’m proud of you, ’Silla.”

“I’m proud of myself.” Drusilla cocked an anxious eye.

“But it’s not going to be a daily event, is it?”

“That’s up to you.”

Bryce’s serious rejoinder made the straps seem very tight. “You’re reducing me to childhood, aren’t you? I’m either a good girl or a bad girl. If I’m bad I’m punished?”

“And I lay down the rules.”

“O.K. We’ve gone over this before,” Drusilla agreed wearily. “I’ve just made the discovery that, even after what you’ve just done to me, I don’t want to call it off. I have to be crazy but that’s how it is.” She paused, half ashamed of her admission. Then added, more carefully: “I guess we’ve proved something. You can let me loose now.”

There fell a silence. For the naked woman strapped to the bench it was more eloquent than words. Her heartbeats quickened. She knew!

“In the morning, love.”

“Bryce!” Drusilla’s exclamatory word vibrated with emotion. “You’re not going to leave me strapped to this damned bench all night?”

“Yes, I am, pet.”

Drusilla drew a deep breath and warned herself inwardly: “Careful, girl, careful!” Bryce was no longer predictable. A couple of wrong words and the tawse could be cutting at her again. She forced her tongue to moderation. “Isn’t that taking a mean advantage of me?”

“I don’t think so. You could have asked the same about the handcuffs.”

She was forced to examine his proposition in a way she would not have done in freedom. He was right, of course. Her punishments would vary in degree. But the principle was established. “Do I deserve it?” she asked cautiously.

“Not in the sense you’re thinking of,” he admitted. “But in this—this—thing we’ve agreed on you have to lose a lot of freedom. Some of the loss will be uncomfortable.”

“All right!” She allowed some of her resentment to seep into her words. “Strapped tight like this! I can’t move!”

“Don’t beef, sweetheart. You’re lying down. You’ll sleep.”

“I won’t! I won’t! It’s awful!”

“It can always be worse, ’Silla. Would you prefer standing against the post?”

His tone was a warning she could not ignore. Angrily she knew it best to accept what she must. If she was going to play this experiment out with him she must not be constantly shaming herself with outraged exclamations. She contented herself with sad reproach.