F Campbell - Drusilla

“Good try, kid. But your back’s so lovely I hate to mark it.”

“Isn’t my bottom lovely, Mumsie?”

“Your bottom is indestructible, darling. I’m not sure about your back.”

“I don’t mind you trying on my back, Mummy. Honest!”

“Isn’t there something you do mind?”

“I expect there is, Mummy. But you get so angry when -”

“When what?”

“Nothing.”

The teenager stood before the desk, chin up, breasts outthrust. Her eyes were still mistily intent upon the wall. Her discipline was perfect. Diana eyed her daughter shrewdly. “How do you feel about Drew watching you punished?”

“It’s lovely, Mummy. Makes me feel all—”

“All right, all right! Suppose it was a stranger—or some one you don’t like—or someone who might laugh? Remember you’d be naked.”

The youthful figure tensed. “Oh, Mummy... !”

“Not so good, eh?”

Silence.

“I was thinking of Petty Prentiss.”

“Mummy, she’s my best friend!” It was a wail of anguish.

“Is that bad?”

“Of course it is! Seeing me all naked and—and—”

“She goes swimming with you.”

“Oh, Mummy, you know it’s not that. It’s a different naked. I’d feel awful—and Petty would laugh.”

“Your best friend laughing at you being beaten!”

“Oh, M-o-t-h-e-r-r-r!” For a moment Ginny’s shoulders twisted in frustration. “You’re putting it all wrong. I think you’re laughing at me.”

“No, I’m not. I think I’d like Petty to come over. What have you got against her?”

“Oh, Mummy! It’s not Petty, it’s the humiliation.”

“Ah, now we’re getting somewhere! Do you agree, dear, having Petty watch would make your punishment a little less—enjoyable?”

Ginny pouted, but did not reply. “Answer me!”

“Yes.” Ginny managed to make the single word sound as though the bottom had fallen out of her world.

“Excellent! You may phone Petty, dear, and ask her over.”

“Mummy, I don’t want to. Oh, please?”

“Do it, Ginny.”

“Mumsie, can I have extra? Something really terrible instead?”

“No, dear. We’ve gone into this often before. I refuse to flay your back or bottom just because of a notion.”

“Is that it, Mummy?”

“That’s it, dear. You’ve been sentenced. You needn’t stand to attention anymore.”

“Thanks, Mummy—I’m sorry.”

“That’s all right, Ginny. I’ll just allot you a couple more for all those quibblings. What’s your total?”

“Fourteen strokes, Mother.”

“That’s my girl! You can now phone Petty.”

“Thank you, Mother.”

Ginny picked up the phone as though it were a venomous reptile.

Drusilla knew herself privileged. Private winks had passed from her mistress to herself as Ginny’s small drama unrolled. No doubt there were those who would pay vast sums to witness what was about to take place. The Room had become a stage.

“I want you to kneel to one side, Drew. You may sit back on your heels and rest your hands on your thighs so we can all see your handcuffs.”

Drusilla obeyed, blushing under Petty’s startled scrutiny.

But at least she had been told her place. She would not be flitting from here to there. She placed her palms upon her thighs so as to stretched the handcuffs’ single link as far as it would permit.

“I don’t want you to feel awkward about this, Petty dear,” Diana said kindly. “I think you know, don’t you, we’re a bit unconventional?”

“Oh, yes, Mrs. Winslow. It’s kind of you to want me to come.”

“You must forgive Ginny if she’s embarrassed by your presence. But that’s part of her punishment, dear. Do you get caned at home?”

“Gosh, no, Mrs. Winslow.”

“What a pity! It’s so good for girls your age.” Diana made it sound as though their guest was undernourished.

“I expect it is, Mrs. Winslow. But we just—I’ve never—I say, Mrs. Winslow, where’s Ginny?”

“Ginny will join us shortly, dear. We like to carry off these little affairs with a touch of ritual. It’s wonderful for building character.”

“Ginny’s awfully lucky,” Petty ventured doubtfully. “I do love her so.”

“We all love her, dear. That’s why I’m very strict with her punishments. Has she told you?”

“Well, some—”

Petty was out of her depth. Drusilla longed to laugh at the poor child’s puzzlement. For herself, she wanted only to be as unobtrusive as possible... ! What must the girl be thinking of a naked woman, handcuffed! Diana was having herself a field day.

Ginny made an entry.

Drusilla could not be sure, but she shrewdly guessed the youngster had assessed her predicament and decided to milk it of as many titillations as it might provide. Ginny’s native exuberance was under control, but her eyes were shining. Her dress was unchanged but her hair had been groomed as had her features. For one brief moment she and Petty locked eyes. Then the delinquent daughter strode into the Room and stood before her mother.

“I ask permission to be punished.”

“Of course, dear.”

“I am to receive fourteen strokes on my bare bottom from the cane.”

“That is correct.”

“I ask permission to prepare myself.”

“You have it, dear.”

It was beautifully done. There could be no doubt Ginny was enjoying herself, pushing Petty and the cane into the back of her mind. With graceful forethought she began to strip. She wore almost nothing, but she made the most of what she had.

“There is no need to perform a strip tease, Ginny.”

“No, Mother, sorry.”

Nude, she stood before her parent. Diana examined her exposed daughter with pride.

“I ask permission to be fastened, please.”

“Yes, dear. I think standing.”

Diana was being kind. Drusilla shared Ginny’s sigh of relief. To be bound upon some contraption with your legs apart was an indignity no girl would relish in front of her best friend. With a perfect presence the girl about to be caned positioned herself beneath the bar and raised her hands.

“I’ll bring it down, dear. No need to strain.”

“Thank you, Mother.”

The trapeze halted its downward course at the level of Ginny’s breasts. Without prompting, she pushed her hands through the loops and held them passively while her mother buckled the straps tight. Then the motor sang its song and the bare arms rose until their owner’s heels left the floor.

“If you’re well up it will save you floundering, dear.”

“Yes, Mother:”

“Isn’t she beautifully behaved, Petty?”

“Gosh, yes!” Petty’s stock of exclamations was limited.

But her eyes were eloquent. They were alight with vivid interest.

“I’m so proud of her. Are you ready to be caned, darling?”

“Yes, Mother.”

Drusilla feared an orgasm. What she was seeing and hearing was just too much. She wondered anxiously if, in her kneeling pose, she could absorb the tremors and tumults of a come without betraying herself. With an observant Petty! She closed her eyes and fought back the rising tide.

She had witnessed Ginny being caned before. How long ago that seemed! How much had happened! Wryly, the handcuffed woman tried to compute the stripes she herself had felt planted on her skin since that first day. Her arithmetic was interrupted by the whirring of the cane and a solid smack.

The response of girls beneath the whip must inevitably vary. Yet, basically, they are the same. Stoicism fights surrender. Panic pleads. The wealed flesh is provoked to writhings. The clenched teeth part so that the lips may wail. Drusilla watched breathlessly as the crimson bars sprung into life on youthful curves. From time to time she spared a glance at Petty. The teenager was transfixed by awe, an enraptured vision of wonder, of the incredible, of something new and spine-curlingly exciting. Something that would surely lead to a hundred maiden whisperings.