F Campbell - Drusilla

“After breakfast, saucy slave.”

It was not quite as she had expected. But then, it was not supposed to be! Drusilla understood Diana’s need to keep her always off balance. Once things started to be taken for granted... ! That would never do. But still... !

It was not an enjoyable tie. It was an infuriating pose to be compelled to hold. The fact that it protruded her behind most conveniently seemed coincidental. She mourned the loss of her beloved handcuffs but was thankful they did not join her wrists at this moment. Instead, her wrists were crossed behind her back and bound fast by quite a few strands of soft white rope. The rope was tight. Not that its bite mattered. What did matter was that her hands had been raised high behind her back by some sort of pulley that was no more visible than a whirr in the ceiling.

“All conveniences, Drew darling.”

“Oh, Mistress, I’m almost on my toes.”

“Lovely, isn’t it! Just a single rope from the winch.”

It was not lovely at all. But its authority upon her bent nudity was total. Drusilla had a good view of the floor, her bound ankles, her corded knees, and her pubic hair. If she wanted to see anything else she had to strain awkwardly and painfully.

Drusilla had protested the binding of her feet. But an amused Diana had been adamant. “If you can kick and cavort you’ll just struggle that much more and bother your poor shoulders more than you need. So shut up, darling, and think about the lovely cane and your dear little bottom.”

Under the compulsion of the cords, much of Drusilla’s erotic titillation over the cane had evaporated. She felt very bare and very bent and very vulnerable. The final indignity had come when something had been forcibly thrust into her unsuspecting mouth. It was there now: a metal ring held behind her teeth by a strap across her cheeks and buckled firmly at the back of her neck above her collar.

“Silence and immobility, darling,” Diana had cooed wickedly. “Perfect conditioning for a slave girl.”

Drusilla silently agreed. She was quite prepared to be, say, do, or promise anything so that her arms might be released and she return to normal. She would have been very vocal about this obedience had the gag not silenced her protestations. No doubt that was why it was put in her mouth. Diana did not want to hear. If this was conditioning, she would be well conditioned indeed.

It was her saddest plight yet. Wryly, the naked captive supposed it a promotion. Diana was not playing kid’s games and she was not a kid. She was being taught what she was. If the tuition was painful, that was her hard luck. Drusilla gazed down despondently as another drop of wet joined others on the floor. The ring strapped in her mouth promoted salivation but robbed her of control. Her saliva slipped past her lips at will. Her efforts to swallow it back were ineffectual. After Diana had left her alone she had explored the possibilities of speech. But the sounds that escaped through the ring were too demeaning. She soon desisted.

Knowledge of time was not for her. Drusilla sadly guessed her estimates colored by longing. But she was sure she had stood thus for a long time. Diana was making her wait and think. Maybe when the cane actually began to stripe her skin she would be grateful. Her wracked shoulders howled their plea for release.

She was completely helpless. The elevation of her bound hands defeated normal wrigglings. She would have to stand, her head and shoulders bent well forward, until such time as her mistress chose to end her travail. In a forlorn attempt to speed the passage of time, the mute captive had striven to have her first good look at the New Room. To do so she had to fight the tether to her hands, straining them up almost to her neck so as to raise her head enough to look around at the goodies on which Diana had spent so much of their money. What she saw was not reassuring. The circumstances for viewing were all wrong. listlessly she relapsed and resumed her staring at her feet. Her only comfort was that her breasts did not hang. This was a test to which they were responding with magnificent firmness.

“I’d imagine it’s quite an experience, darling?”

“Nnning!”

“Sorry, I forgot you were suffering in silence. Is this little ensemble very bad?”

“Nrrrrrgh!”

“All right, I’m a meanie. I’ll take it out. I really shouldn’t. I’m sure it’s doing you no end of good. But it spoils your loveliness. Besides, I want someone to talk to.”

“Oh, darling... ! Oh, Mistress!” The still-helpless captive was overwhelmed with gratitude and relief.

“Pretty bad, eh?”

“It’s awful. You’ve no idea. Oh—ohhhhh!”

Fingers were forcing a passage between her constrained thighs. Drusilla gasped at the firm contact and was sorry when it was withdrawn.

“You’re O.K., sweetheart. Plenty of moisture.”

Drusilla longed for release but was sure she should not ask. Suddenly, a long, slender streak of yellow was held within her range of vision. “I won’t make you kiss it, Drew. I want to avoid cliches in what we do together.”

“I want to kiss it. Oh, Mistress, let me?”

“You funny little fox! Why?”

“I don’t know. I just want to. It’s something from you to me, isn’t it? I guess that’s why.”

The rod was raised to her straining lips. Drusilla kissed it again and again. “I’m kissing you,” she said huskily. “Couldn’t you guess?”

“Drew, what’s come over you? I could almost believe you were about fifteen.”

“It’s Ginny,” Drusilla surmised. “I told you, she’s infectious.”

“Hmmmmm, yes maybe. But there’s something else... ”

“Well, then, it’s you and me. You own me now. I’ve become Ginny’s twin. I do what you tell me. Oh, gollies, Mistress dear, this is awful tough on my shoulders!”

“Good!” Diana’s fingers tested the moist armpits so cruelly exposed beneath the wrenched shoulders. “I think I’ll let your hair grow in your armpits, darling. Quite a novelty in this day and age.”

“Oh, Mistress!”

“That sounds like Ginny. When you get a good bush under both arms, I’ll shave your pubic hair. The effect should be gorgeous.”

“Diana, please!!!”

The exclamation was lost under the snicker of the cane and its thunk upon the unsuspecting cheeks. Drusilla yelped in shock.

“Good thing for you I’m not a man, Drew. If I were, I’d have to take you right here and now the way you are. The scarlet line that’s forming on your seat is lighting a fire in me I can barely stand.”

Drusilla contented herself with a whimper. The pain was intense. She was very thankful Diana was not a man. For the next several blows she was able to control herself against a mounting agony. When Diana paused, the whipped girl moaned: “Oh, please... ! Go easy. Oh—oh—oh... ! Oh, Mistress, couldn’t you untie my feet?”

“What on earth for?”

“I think it would help. I’m so—so—so lumpy and helpless. And I’m trying so hard not to scream.”

“I want you to scream, darling. I don’t mind. And, no, I won’t untie your feet. You’d kick and lunge. This way you have to stand still and all the action’s in your darling bottom. You should see it weave! I wouldn’t miss what you’re doing with it for the world.”

“It’s doing it itself,” Drusilla mourned. “I didn’t even know it was doing anything—except hurt.”

Diana resumed the flagellation of her beloved. When, after several impacts, Drusilla emitted a tentative scream, she paused again. “You haven’t started to cry yet, darling.” There was real disappointment in her reproach.

“It’s because I’m trying too hard,” her victim gasped. “I want to but it won’t work. Or maybe it’s because I hurt so bad.”