F Campbell - Drusilla

“Ooooo-o-o-o-o, I’d rather not. Gosh! Oh jeepers!” With studied nonchalance, Ginny cupped the young, exposed pussy with an experienced palm. She nodded at what she found. “She is enjoying it, Mummy.”

“G-i-n-n-y-y!!!” The exclamation was heavy with reproach. Petty eyed her friend askance.

“It’s all right, dear,” Diana reassured her punished guest.

“Ginny is being silly. I am sure we have a cure.”

The silence was pregnant. “Hold out your hand, Ginny.”

“M-O-t-h-e-r-r-r!!!”

“Do as I say.”

“But, Mummy, what have I done?”

“You know perfectly well. Hold your hand out.”

Ginny stood, a picture of naked dismay. In instinctive defense her splayed fingers sought and clasped her striped bottom.

“Oh, Mummy, don’t cane my hands! Not my hands—I can’t hold a pencil—or anything—after.”

“The infliction will not be severe, dear. If you behave.”

“How many?”

“Ginny! That was impertinence. You do not bargain.”

“I was only asking. I’m sorry, Mother. Must it—must it be my hands?”

“Yes, it must! Hold one of them out—and stand where Petty can see. Your sentence is two, one on each hand,” Diana glowered maternally. “Or do you want to be silly and go for four?”

Ginny swallowed hard. Burning with shame, she took the required position and held out a bare arm. The cane cut at her palm. The operation was repeated. She stood in naked misery hugging her hands. When she took guilty steps she was sent back by Diana’s order: “Stand where Petty can see you perform those absurd contortions.”

The hurt eyes flashed. The slender nudity tensed erect.

The punished hands were withdrawn from wet armpits and casually offered for the scrutiny of the girl with strapped wrists. “There they are, Petty. They’re hurting quite a lot, in case you’re curious.”

It was beautifully done. Drusilla longed to exclaim “Bravo!” Ginny was infinitely precious—to be adored.

“I think you’re super, Ginny.” Petty was reverent.

“I think you should let your friend down, dear. I expect it’s time she went home. Thank you, Petty dear. I’m so glad you came.” Diana beamed maternally at all.

Drusilla was willing to admit to weariness. She estimated she had been tied to the cell bars a number of hours. There was no panic. Diana had said simply it was a “tie day,” an essential conditioning for girls who were slaves.

Her knees hurt. But that was to be expected. Kneeling on the concrete with her legs thrust behind her through the bars could not possibly be pleasurable. True, her pussy was wet. But Drusilla had come to regard her pussy as a traitor—sometimes! The rest of her was roped securely to the bars. Her thighs, her waist, her shoulders. Her hands and arms had been pulled back through bars as had her feet. Her wrists were handcuffed. Thus she knelt facing the small cell. her immediate view the stone wall. She was not alone.

“I’m getting awful tired of this, Drew.”

“So am I, Ginny. Think it’s for all day?”

“It likely is,” said the voice of experience. “You quite sure you can’t slip those handcuffs?”

“Oh, Ginny, of course I can’t!”

“Well, I think handcuffs are really made for men,” Ginny sniffed. “They don’t have girls’ sizes, and my hands are awful small. If Mummy didn’t click ’em so tight—”

“Mine are clicked too tight, Ginny.”

“So are mine. Oh, Drew, I wish I hadn’t smashed that vase—” Another sniff. “But then, if I hadn’t done that you’d be in here all alone. This place all alone is creepy. ’Specially when you’re naked.”

Drusilla took a sideways look at slender hips. By straining forward she could glimpse pubic hair below an adolescent tummy tightly constricted by rope. Ginny was standing beside her. The youngster’s hands were similarly constrained, but her ankles were bound to separate bars. Two strands of rope above her breasts strictured her back against the metal. Her breasts pouted under the strain. Her view was as limited as her older companion’s. “Are you hurting?” she asked anxiously.

“Sort of.” Ginny was always casual about pain. “It must be worse for you.” She giggled. “Did you make Mummy mad or something?”

“No, darling, we’re both here to build our characters.”

“Mmmmmm! Have you come yet? I wish I could help.”

“No, I haven’t. I expect it’s because my knees hurt so bad—not the right mood. Have you?”

“Not really. It’s sort of hovering. Even if I don’t like the way I’m tied it. still turns me on. I say, Drew, how about if we talk real sexy about our breasts and cunts and how we hurt here or there and what we’d do to each other if we were loose?”

“It would be contrived. We’d have done it already if we hadn’t been gloomy in all this rope.”

“Can you rub your head against me anywhere, Drew? It doesn’t take much.”

“I’ve already tried. It’s hopeless. We’re both fixed, but good! Gosh, one of these ropes across my shoulder... !”

“Me too. Being tied up is the pits. Ever figured out why it makes us horny, Drew?”

“Because a girl did it. Someone we love. The ropes are her hands on us. They make us know we’re owned and controlled—that we can’t get loose unless they let us.”

“What about if a man did it to you?”

“Same thing. But if you didn’t like him you’d hate it.”

“You sure about it?” Ginny asked with interest. “I’ve wondered... I’d hate to be tied by a man. I don’t want anything to do with boys or men... ugh! It would be horrid to be owned by one—not when I’ve got gorgeous Mummy and gorgeous you! I’d sooner let Petty... ”

“Suppose it wasn’t a case of ‘let.’ Suppose you were forced by physical strength?”

“Oh, wow! It is sort of a turn on, darling. Have you... ?”

“No. But it’s the female rape fantasy.”

“Oh, that! No, thanks!” Ginny’s disgust was vehement.

“That’s a real ugh! One of those—things inside me.”

The child was infinitely sweet. Drusilla wondered what life might do to her. Would Diana be able to keep her captive always within this cocoon of scented femininity in which she herself was a happy prisoner! Here, no matter how she was bound, the child would never sense captivity.

“Say, Drew, did you hear something?”

“Probably your mother moving a chair.”

“It didn’t sound—right.”

“Well, there’s bound to be noises in a house.”

“I s’pose. I say, Drew, d’you think Mummy might let you tie me sometime?”

“I expect so. Gosh, Ginny, I’d like to. I’d like it a lot.”

“Just thinking about it’s made me all goosey. I just know I’m going to pop!” Ginny’s voice oozed excitation. “She could lock us both in here. But no handcuffs on you! She could leave you lots of rope and you could do anything you liked with me. It’s groovy!”

This time the sound was more pronounced. Both girls tensed against their bindings, listening.

“It’s absolutely cunt curling,” Ginny whispered. “We’re completely helpless. Just think... !”

Drusilla was thinking. It was most likely Diana pushing furniture around under some feminine caprice for change. But suppose... ! A burglar! An intruder! But it was broad daylight! It was absurd!

It was then they heard the door open and the step upon the stairs.

“Don’t play the haughty lady with me, Diana,” said a vaguely familiar voice.

Drusilla strained to look up. Ginny looked down. Each face reflected consternation. “I can hardly move,” Ginny whispered hoarsely. “Oh, damn!”

Drew slammed her nakedness against her bonds in a frenzy of need to be free. It amounted to no more than a reflex action. She was held fast. “It’s no use, darling,” she mourned. “Whatever’s happening is going to happen.”