F Campbell - Drusilla

“What the devil have we got here!” The unknown voice from somewhere in the past sounded surprised and pleased. “I’ve been wondering where you kept your little cunts. Damn neat, I must say. Where’s the key?”

“On that nail—the passage wall.” Diana’s voice was oddly strained.

“Aha! The old trick. They can see it but can’t reach. Tantalizing as hell.”

The lock on the cell door made its now familiar snap.

Diana stumbled inside, propelled by a lusty hand. Her arms were handcuffed behind her back. She was flushed with fury and shame.

“M-o-t-h-e-r-r?” Ginny’s familiar exclamation was anguished.

“It’s all right, dear. Don’t panic.” Diana’s voice clearly said things were not ‘all right’ at all.

“And how’s my little slave girl’s rump today?”

Mrs. Pendleton’s muscularity made the cell seem doubly small. She surveyed the naked captives with beaming approval. Her voice was hearty. “Did a good job on ’em, Diana. They’re safe. Young’un’s your own, eh? Starting her out right.”

“Belinda, stop this! Ginny’s a child. She shouldn’t—”

“Nice cunt and tits, Diana. Looks big enough to me.”

“That’s not the point! This is all wrong! You are not invited! And you tricked me, damn you!”

Mrs. Pendleton guffawed. “You fell for it. When I said it was something new in handcuffs you were eager as all get out. Got one cuff on you, the rest was easy.”

“You took a rotten advantage. It’s a betrayal of friendship. Let me loose. Take these things off my wrist.”

“Cool down, Diana. Think a bit. I’ve stumbled on a gold mine here. I’d be nuts to pass it up. There’s no way you can get out of those handcuffs. I’ve got you! I’ve got all three of you.”

It was then that Drusilla saw the marks on Diana’s arms.

Diana wore a sleeveless dress. Both her bare arms bore the scarlet of the riding crop Mrs. Pendleton held beneath one arm. Her resistance and its punishment would explain the sounds.

“You can’t possibly do this. It’s too outrageous!” Diana was tugging at her cuffed hands in the resentment of a new captive Drusilla remembered all too well.

“You know I can, love. I can certainly get away with it long enough to whip you all into shape—most especially you, Diana! You’re vulnerable. If I want to be a bit crafty I can possibly whip you for life.”

“But why? You’ve got—?”

“I’m a bored, middle-aged sadist, love. A bit jaded. You’ll put new life in me.”

“But my daughter! It’s just not—!”

“Your daughter’s doing just fine. Look at the little pretty! Naked and all tied up! Where’s your beef’?”

Drusilla watched in impotent misery as her beloved Mistress was herded from the cell. When she was marched back, her neck was circled by a chain. She was led to one of the upper rings in the opposite wall. A padlock snapped. Diana stood tethered by no more than twelve inches of metal links. Mrs. Pendleton removed the handcuffs.

“Undress!”

Drusilla’s heart quickened in apprehension. Her darling Mistress! The vividly beautiful Diana chained, at bay, her authority shattered by a sardonic beldam intent on carnal joy.

“Belinda, be sensible! We can still be friends.”

“We are friends, darling. Undress!”

Diana’s hands were busy at her throat, exploring her own chain, her own padlock. She made a motion forward and was snubbed back. Save for her neck, she was free! But she was also helpless. She could do no more than stand against the wall of her own cell, glowering.

Mrs. Pendleton made suggestive flourishes with her riding crop. Concerned eyes focused on its flexing and its cutting of the air. Mrs. Pendleton basked in their attention. “All right. That thing hurts. You’ve made your point,” Diana declaimed angrily. “Surely you’re not bitch enough to use it on us while we’re like this!”

“Undress, dear. I want to see your cunt.”

“Belinda! Don’t talk like that! Remember—!”

“The kid?” Mrs. Pendleton guffawed. “I noticed the bottoms on those two on the way in. That youngster knows the score.” She turned to the bound and indignant Ginny. “Where’s your cunt, kid?”

“Same place as yours,” Ginny said sullenly.

The crop flashed across a slim hip. Ginny yelped.

“Where’s your cunt, girl?”

“Between my legs.” Ginny vouchsafed the information resentfully.

“Belinda, she’s only a girl. For Pete’s sake—!”

“She’s a girl with a well-caned bottom, and you’re likely to have one too,” said Belinda expansively. “Now, stop nattering and undress.”

“I refuse. Not in front of my daughter.”

“What have you got that she hasn’t?”

“That’s an absurd question. It’s indecent.”

“I’m looking at two cunts and four tits right now,” Mrs. Pendleton pointed out reasonably. “It’s not as though you’d be breaking fresh ground.”

“I simply refuse. That’s final.”

The crop cut at the leg below the skirt. In a sickening knowledge of pain, Drusilla saw the nylon shred and ladder under the blow. Diana lunged to clasp her injury but was jerked back by the chain upon her neck.

“I can stand here and cut you to pieces,” said Mrs.

Pendleton affably. “And there’s nothing you can do about it except wave your arms and kick.”

Diana stood, panting, her hands against the wall beyond which she could not retreat. “Untie Ginny and take her somewhere else.” Her voice was pleading.

“Don’t want her to see you do a strip, eh?” Mrs. Pendleton was intrigued. She turned to the child bound against the bars. “You’d like to watch Ma do a tease, wouldn’t you, kid?”

“No, I wouldn’t! I think you’re horrid!” Ginny’s fury strained at the ropes. “You let Mummy go—let her GO!” .

“Why should I, love?”

“Because! Because she’s my mother, that’s why!” Ginny glared in fierce adolescent indignation. “Look, you old trout, you’ve got Drew and me. We’re helpless and we’re naked. What more do you want?”

Mrs. Pendleton nodded and beamed approvingly. “You ever service a woman, kid?”

“I’m fifteen, not five—and I’m not going to service you!”

“Old trout, eh!” Mrs. Pendleton’s voice was cheerfully pensive. “Ever had your tits thrashed, Ginny?”

“Belinda, no!” Diana’s cry was anguished.

“Your ma’s concerned about your breasts, love,” Belinda suggested suavely. “Pity she doesn’t want to take her clothes off.”

It had been inevitable from the beginning. A riding crop can be all powerful in a world of naked girls bound for its caress. Diana kicked off her shoes.

Drusilla had seen her Mistress naked. But never in the context of what was taking place. A woman nude in bed is a world removed from the same woman chained naked against a wall. What she beheld now left her breathless. It was beauty. It seethed eroticism. It was spiced with shame. No matter how Diana courted indifference she could not disguise her mortification at what she must do. Her clothes came off in slow, sharp jerks of fury.

“Dammit, Diana, if I had your figure I’d never wear clothes.” Belinda’s tribute was grudging and envious.

“Have a good look. There’s no charge.” Diana was bitter. “At least you have the sense not to try and cover anything. Keep your hands back against the wall—or lift ’em up. Just so long as I can get a good look.”

“It’s normal equipment,” Diana retorted listlessly.

“But high quality! Dammit, I’m glad I thought to bring those handcuffs. You can turn and face the wall and put your hands behind your back.”

Drusilla saw her Mistress tense, saw the involuntary glance at the crop and the woman who held it, saw the tentative hand reach up to the chain. Then, hopelessly, the lovely nudity turned and two hesitant hands offered themselves in surrender. Handcuffs latched their familiar song, two wrists tugged against the steel, then relaxed.