F Campbell - Drusilla

His chuckle was audible. “In the middle of the block there’s the Pacific News. Remember?”

“I’ve seen it, going by.”

“Drop in there and buy a copy of the London Times.

It’s the only place in town that sells it.” Another chuckle. “Just a bit of proof in case you were thinking of cheating.”

“Bryce, I hate you!”

“No, you don’t, sweetheart.”

She slammed the receiver savagely back on its cradle. Driving the car was surprisingly uncomfortable. The chain protested her every movement. While she wrenched at the wheel to park it was like a live thing round her middle.

There is a Tilbury Street in most towns. They are all alike. In order to face it Drusilla had donned her most unattractive garment and made herself as dowdy as possible. Setting out upon her challenge, she wished she had been less thorough. The sway of her hips was now doubly grotesque. She had practiced walking, but nothing helped. She approached the fateful block on Tilbury with a forthright stride.

Purposeful speed was the answer. It carried her past interested eyes, post hostile glares. A policeman spared her only a flicker of attention. Potential clients withheld their offers. Drusilla was pink cheeked and panting by the time she handed over the coins and accepted the foreign news-paper. Passing the bookshelf on her way to the door she saw the paperback.

It had received raves. Its cover blurb was unblushing.

Drusilla could not resist. She put down her purchase and browsed. But it was the old story of promise unfulfilled. The more she thumbed, the less her urge to buy. Disappointed, she replaced the epic on its shelf, brushed forcefully past a loitering male, and once more ran the gauntlet to her car. Settling into her seat she felt a thrill of victory. The rolled paper beside her was a prize. Now her ordeal was over, she wished it prolonged, and in more bewitching attire! The loiterers were mostly sad middle-aged men who looked harmless—it might have been amusing. She was tempted to retrace her steps, but thought of the policeman deterred her. She started the motor. Her chain burned.

Supper was a success. Drusilla had hummed happily while she worked. When she kissed her husband, home from toil, she was wearing his favorite dress. It was not until after the dishes were disposed of that the loving wife sank to her knees before her lord and proffered the newspaper that was her proof of obedience.

“Meanie, making me do a thing like that... !”

Their mood was good. Bryce accepted the offering. His eyes approved her humorous approach. He bent forward and kissed her.

“I bet you had three orgasms and loved it.”

“Only one—and it was sort of fun. I was of a good mind to get myself arrested so you’d have to come and bail me out.”

“Enjoy your chain?”

“Oh, Bryce, how can a girl enjoy a thing like that cutting her in two all day!”

He nodded complaisantly. “Yeah, you enjoyed it. I can tell. ”

“Darling, please take it off me now.”

“If you’d really wanted it off you’d have been after me immediately I got home.”

“I was busy with supper and I didn’t want to spoil things.”

“That’s a good girl! You only have to wear it for a week.”

“Oh, Br-y-c-e! You do tease.” She shrugged prettily. “I suppose I’ll have to get used to it. I’ll starve myself to make it comfortable.”

“Won’t do you any good. I’ll take up the slack daily.” Drusilla enjoyed their repartee. It was one of the good things they shared. They had always teased; making a game of it. Now, in her voluntary captivity, it was doubly piquant. It held the potent spice that she could never be quite sure —! She sat back on her heels, finding herself unwilling to abandon her slave girl pose. Amused and quaintly triumphant she watched Bryce examine her trophy.

“S-i-l-l-a!”

She sensed disaster instantly. Her eyes widened in disbelief at what was being displayed for her attention. It was a copy of the local morning newspaper.

Bryce’s gaze had become sharp. But he was still attuned to fun. “Funny, funny.” He acknowledged her tease. “Now! Where’s the London Times?”

“I must have left it on the bookshelf and picked this up by mistake.” Even to herself it sounded lame.

Bryce said nothing, just looked down at her. “I wanted to look at a paperback—”

Her explanation shattered against his disbelief. He clung to silence as though giving her plenty of rope. Desperately, Drusilla knew this was a moment that must be turned to laughter. Somehow she must be amusing, witty, clever—above all, convincing! “I wouldn’t cheat, y’know,” she said brightly while her heart thumped.

“No, I don’t know.” He said it very slowly.

She gestured ineffectually. “But there wouldn’t be any point to it. You’d—you’d—”

“Yes?”

“Well, you’d know I was cheating. You know me too well—”

“Maybe that’s the trouble.”

“But I was there! I was! Oh, Bryce, don’t be so—so—”

“Skeptical’s the word.”

“I know it is,” Drusilla acknowledged bitterly. “And you’re simply oozing it. Look, darling, I can describe things, tell you what I saw.”

“We’ve driven past there too many times.”

They had! It had been a fun thing to traverse the block.

Most everyone did it. Suddenly she knew herself back at square one. Because she had fibbed in the past, Bryce would believe she fibbed now. She could not blame him. The lovely mood crumbled around her in ruins. Kneeling before the disappointed man, Drusilla buried her face in her hands and sobbed.

Bryce sat, saying nothing, letting her cry.

Beneath his dour silence Drusilla felt as guilty as though she actually were. Her husband’s refusal to utter the obvious cliches and platitudes gave her no scope by which to search for ways to touch or seek his sympathy. Everything had gone hopelessly wrong.

“I could laugh this off,” he said finally. “It’s no big deal. But in the light of what you and I have been trying to do—”

She nodded blindly. “I know.”

“There’s no use crying.” It was man’s eternal plaint. Drusilla allowed one brimming eye to peer through her fingers. “Isn’t there any way you can possibly believe me?” she asked wanly.

“Can you suggest one?”

“Don’t you love me?”

“Oh, Silla, that’s got nothing to do with it.”

With frightful clarity she understood the quandary she posed for him. A wave of hopelessness sent fresh sobs and fresh tears into her cupped hands. Drusilla wanted to stay within the dark and feminine refuge forever but knew what she must do. The chain around her center was a reminder indeed. She scrambled blindly to her feet. At the door she looked back humbly. “May I—?”

Bryce waved a disgusted arm. “Sure. Run along.” Drusilla ran to their bedroom. While she flung her clothes from her the tears dried. She went to the bathroom, washed and fixed her face. Then returned and stood naked before the man who had not moved. The chain within her flesh was now a badge of shame.

“I’ve been to the bathroom,” she said pathetically.

He got the message instantly and looked up in surprise. “I’m going downstairs now, Bryce. I’ll be— ready.”

He said nothing. When, minutes later, he followed, Drusilla was sitting on the bench. She was the calmest of the two. “Don’t let’s talk about it,” she said listlessly. “Let’s just do it. Do I lie on the bench again?”

“No. Stand against the post. Put your arms round it.”

His voice was as drained of emotion as her own.

“Of course. How silly of me. I’d forgotten.”

Drusilla recalled his promise on the phone. She had already been sentenced. Keeping her mind a prudent blank she did as she’d been told. Facing the wooden surface she compressed her arms so as to accomodate her breasts between them as best she could. Then hugged her nakedness close to maintain the position she had chosen. She was aided in this endeavor by the ropes that quickly looped around her center.