F Campbell - Drusilla

“Halfway, dears,” said Diana brightly.

Ginny was engrossed with her scalding bottom. In unconscious grace she was rubbing one cheek against a raised arm and doing her favorite exercise against pain by bending and flexing her leg at the knee. She looked at no one. She was alone with the cane.

“The darling behaves awfully well, don’t you think!”

“She s beautiful!” Drusilla poured sincerity into the obvious.

“Oh, Mrs. Winslow... !” Petty evidently felt called upon for polite comment. “Doesn’t it hurt her terribly?”

“Why not ask her, dear!”

Petty giggled prettily. She would hold no illusions about her girl friend’s state of mind. “I’m real sorry—” she began tentatively.

Ginny did not turn. Her voice was crisp. “Don’t be. I do this for fun.”

The words held a bitterness of which Ginny was rarely guilty. Drusilla realized that Diana had indeed discovered something to which her effervescent daughter was allergic.

Petty filled the awkward silence with another try: “I expect it hurts something awful...?”

“I love every stroke!”

“She’s a little upset, dear,” Diana soothed sweetly. “But she shouldn’t be rude. What do you think, Petty? Does she deserve an extra stroke? She wasn’t very grateful for your concern.”

Drusilla swallowed a giggle. Petty was looking as embarrassed as a girl could be. “Oh, no, Mrs. Winslow! Poor Ginny—! Not on my account.”

“I am not a ‘poor Ginny.’” The voice of the punished nudity was remote and icy. For the moment the tied girl was in complete control. “And, yes, Mother, I would enjoy an extra stroke. Please give it to me.”

It was youthful bravado. But it was magnificent. Petty was crushed. Diana was vastly entertained. Drusilla was thankful it was not her bottom on which the next eight strokes would fall.

They fell hard. Diana felt challenged. Petty must be impressed. Ginny must be chastened. The trapeze bar creaked under the stress of anguish. The straps bit snugly against protesting wrists. Both knees worked overtime. But the only sounds to emerge from determined lips were small moans, the gaspings of shocked breath, and tiny inarticulate cries bitten off at their source.

“That’s a beautiful bottom. I’m proud of it,” Diana proclaimed after the final slash had seared her daughter’s skin.

“Thank you, Mother.”

Drusilla wondered how much of Ginny’s panting composure was for the benefit of the wide-eyed visitor. Her heart bled for the strapped maiden. She, too, had once known the cruelties of pride.

Diana was determined to extract her pound of flesh.

“Would anyone care to come and look?” she enquired innocently.

The moment was unkind to all. Any response was wrong.

But the woman with the cane was a force. From the depth of young chagrin, Ginny piled on a caustic quip. “Do please come and look at my bottom. I’m sure it’s worth a glance. Why not feel it too! I expect it’s all ridged.”

Petty was aware of a need to repair damaged fences.

“Oh, Ginny, no! We don’t want to do that. I’m so sorry.”

“You enjoyed every minute.” There were tears in the youthful accusation.

“I didn’t! I didn’t!”

“That’s enough of that!” Diana exclaimed crisply. “I’m going to let her down now. Petty, perhaps you’d be kind enough to unbuckle her straps?”

“Oh, yes, Mrs. Winslow.”

The eagerness of the girlish voice faded as Petty glimpsed the trap. Ginny was not going to be grateful.

Drusilla noted the awareness, the hesitancies, the tension. Here was the final shame—that Petty should handle the straps by which she was bound!

Petty fumbled. She dared not raise her eyes to be accused. She tugged awkwardly.

“Thank you.” The pained politeness was grudgingly vouchsafed as the speaker massaged red wrists.

Diana chose the moment to acerbate the atmosphere with sarcasm. “You seem a bit put out with your friend, Ginny? Perhaps you’d like to cane her bottom to even things up?”

“M-o-t-h-e-r-r!!!”

“You can if you want to, Ginny. I want to stay friends.” The unpredictability of girls! Diana and her handcuffed slave both gasped, but Ginny rose, haughtily, to the occasion.

“It’s Mummy who wants to cane you, Petty. Ask her.” Except for the wounded girl’s fingering of her caned bottom, there was silence and immobility. Petty was overwhelmed by enormity. Diana broke the impasse.

“I really do enjoy it,” she agreed shamelessly.

Petty squirmed and sought advice. “What should I do, Mrs. Winslow? Ginny’s mad at me.”

“Well, it would be a nice gesture, dear.”

“You mean—?”

“Generous and forgiving—?”

“Like Ginny was! Ooooo-o-o-o—I’d howl.”

“We wouldn’t mind.” Ginny’s voice was still frosty. Petty looked her girlfriend squarely in the eye. “Ginny, if I say yes, will you get over being mad at me?”

Moments of confrontation melted before Ginny’s sob and a whirl of arms as the naked girl embraced the one still dressed. “I’m a pig,” Ginny confessed vehemently. “A rotten, unkind pig.”

Two women watched two girls. It was a very private moment. Drusilla absorbed the cloying sweetness of ultrafemaleness, the scents and vibrations of which filled the Room with sensual potency. Her orgasm hovered.

“Mrs. Winslow?” The teen embraces had worn themselves out. Petty looked at Diana appealingly. “Could I have just one? To sort of make things right—?”

“She really wants it, Mumsie.”

“Why, of course, dear. How very sweet!”

“But could I keep my clothes on, please? You can just uncover my—my—”

“How very sensible. Would you like Ginny to do the whole thing, dear?”

Petty squirmed and sought Ginny’s eye. “I think it would be more—well—well, more proper if you did it, Mrs. Winslow.”

“I shall be glad to.”

Petty had the stage. The poor child was suddenly aware of focusing eyes. Her cue was now. She walked slowly to the place of martyrdom. “Is this—where I stand?”

Drusilla allowed her orgasm to flower. It did not matter. The others’ eyes were fixed in fascination on the tiny tragi-comedy of Petty’s preparation. While Drusilla buried her shamed face in her handcuffed hands, Petty’s wrists were thoughtfully strapped and her arms elevated to a lesser tension than Ginny’s.

“You do agree it’s best to be fastened, dear?”

“Oh, yes, Mrs. Winslow. I’d only be—silly.”

“Such a sensible girl! Ah, yes, and now the shorts! I’m afraid they’ll have to come off.”

“Of course, Mrs. Winslow.”

The teenager stepped out of her principal protection. Her panties were of chaste white cotton.

“And these, too.”

“I don’t mind, Mrs. Winslow.” Petty visibly gulped. There were no indiscreet exclamations about what was revealed. Petty’s bottom was small and impudent, her pubic hair a dark small triangle. Both peeped from under a soiled tee-shirt as though surprised.

“One quite hard stroke, dear?”

“Whatever you think best, Mrs. Winslow.”

“Mummy will give you more if you ask,” Ginny volunteered.

The cane swished its fateful arc. The small, curved derriere flinched forward under the impact. Petty made a choked repression of sound, her eyes widened.

“There!” Diana exclaimed briskly. “Is honor satisfied?”

“Yes—oh, yes! Oh, dear—oh, wow!”

It was probably Petty’s first confrontation with the monster, pain.

“You might as well try another while you’re at it,” Ginny insinuated mischievously.

“That’s as Petty wishes, dear,” Diana said primly.

“You can stand another, can’t you, Pet?” Ginny was obviously beginning to feel better.