F Campbell - Drusilla

He went away and left her alone. Hours later he took her to bed. Drusilla forgot her resolution.

They were the most tumultuous orgasms she had ever known.

“You’re up to something,” Diana said pointedly. “There’s a look about you.”

Drusilla tried to erase the look. But without success. She could never hide anything from Diana Winslow anyway, so why try. From beneath the sunshade of the garden umbrella she looked across the Winslow swimming pool to the neatly coiffured Winslow palm. Breathlessly she said: “It’s Bryce. He’s gone crazy.”

“Of course it’s Bryce.” Diana Winslow’s pick-up was always instant. “With you it’s Bryce, with me it’s Hinton. Don’t try and hold out on me.”

“It’s nothing really.” Drusilla strove for diffidence.

“He’s just picked up some weird ideas.”

“Is that why you won’t swim?”

Drusilla flushed. Diana had the damnedest knack!

“Oh, Di’, drop it. I’ll tell you when there’s something... ”

“That dress is two sizes too large.” It was an accusation.

“I know it is. I’ll do better next time.”

“Taken up whoring? Where did you practice that swing of the hips? With your bottom going from side to side like that you should carry a red light.”

“Diana! Oh, Di’, does it show that much?” Drusilla forgot reticence and stepped into the trap of girl, girl confidence.

“Does what show that much?” Diana had scented blood.

“Well—” Drusilla blushed and looked unhappy.

“Want me to tell you?” Diana persisted.

Drusilla sniffed. “You couldn’t. Nobody could.”

“You’ve got something fastened around your tummy.” Diana adjusted conversationally. “Something you’re ashamed of.”

The silence seethed. Drusilla dared not meet the amused regard.

Diana enumerated on her fingertips. “I’d guess it to be a chain and padlock. A strap and buckle that locks. Or a weirdo corset. And I’ll bet you can’t get it off?”

“How could you guess?”

“Don’t be silly, darling. I’m a woman. Or hadn’t you noticed?”

“It’s a corset. Oh, Diana, I’m so—!”

Diana rose and grasped her girl friend by the hand. Her words brooked no demur. “This way to the bedroom, darling. ”

Drusilla followed meekly.

“Drusilla! Oh wow!” Diana Winslow backed away to admire the full effect of the miracle wrought by the shedding of the crumpled frock discarded at the feet of the transformed woman who now, before the big mirror, was one huge blush.

“You’re right,” Drusilla said morosely. “I look like an old-time prostitute.”

“You don’t! Oh, darling, never say such a thing. You’re a dish!”

“I’m all hips and tits.”

“Oh no!” Diana was breathless. “You’re all of everything—everything that’s female. Be a sweetheart and take off that scarlet pantie. But don’t touch the garter belt and nylons. Oh, yummy!”

“Diana, you make us sound like a pair of lesbians.”

“Well, aren’t we!” Diana stuck her chin out aggressively. “All females are. I’ll eat you later. For now I’ve got to look.”

“Do you really like it?”

“It’s gorgeous!”

“You’re right about not being able to take it off. There’s a padlock.”

“The perfect hour glass! The Victorians would drool.”

“It hurts—sort of. I can hardly breathe.”

“You must never, never take it off.”

“Oh, Diana, you could at least sympathize. I’d use a knife and cut it off if I dared. But I don’t think—”

“Sacrilege! Don’t ever think of such a thing.” Diana was awed. “Look in the mirror—the way your breasts rise up and your hips! Your nipples are pink above the lace—I suppose there’s friction?”

“Of course there is! It’s embarrassing. I’m always half ready to come. Diana, what are you so damn pleased about?”

“I’m looking at the most beautiful thing in the world. I say, darling, what are those slots for— side and back?”

Drusilla’s blush deepened. “Bryce puts straps through them for my wrists.”

“You mean he actually?” Diana’s eyes were sparkling.

“Yes, he does. He straps my wrists side or back and I can’t do a thing. It’s part of what he calls un-Iibbing me.”

“And you re loving it?”

“No, I’m not!”

“O.K. then! When’s the divorce?”

Drusilla stubbed an exquisitely shod toe in the rug and. contrived only to look bashful. “Well... ”

“Well what?”

“I haven’t made up my mind yet. It’s so—well—it’s outrageous! ”

“You’re the luckiest woman in the U.S.A.”

“Oh, Di’, don’t tease. You wouldn’t want this instrument of torture cutting you in two.”

“I’d give half my life to have a man do something like that to me.”

“Diana!”

“Don’t sound so shocked. You know what Hinton is. Hinton’s so square you could use him for a building block.”

“At least he doesn’t punish you.” Drusilla looked uncertain. “Does he... ?”

“Of course he does, silly. You’ve seen him go into a sulk sulk—moody as hell. And sarcasms... ! I’d far sooner he made me wear a corset. I say, darling—has Bryce—? Well, has Bryce whipped you yet or something really exciting?”

“Diana!”

“You said that before. But has he?”

Drusilla sniffed resignedly. “He’s bought a whip.” She grimaced at her best friend. “I suppose that thrills you to bits?”

“But of course! Oh, Dru’, you lucky, lucky girl!”

“Diana, don’t be absurd. It’s awful.”

“No, it isn’t! Ask him if he’d like to whip me after he’s through with you.”

“I certainly will. And I hope he does!” Drusilla gazed at her glowing companion with quizzical comprehension. “I never knew... I mean, where did you pick this up?”

“No reason to tell you, darling. You’re such a sweet pussy cat—even though you’re the naughtiest of the lot of us. And who’d have dreamed of Bryce! He and Hinton both vote Republican. You really must have rubbed him raw... Darling, would you like to see something?”

“What?” Drusilla was cautious. “We’ll go and visit Ginny?”

“But she’s your daughter. She lives here?”

“Well, yes... but you may be amused, or consoled, or something. Put your panties back on— if you want.”

“And my dress.”

“No. Not your dress. Give the little darling a treat.”

“But she’s only a child. She shouldn’t—!”

“Don’t be coy. Ginny’s fifteen, and knows more than both of us. Come along, you erotic package.”

For a week, Drusilla had been reserving judgment. She suspected her husband of adroitly managing her. Freedom had been interspersed by penalties that led her to the brink of revolt but never pushed her beyond. She consoled her prides and chagrins by thoughts of a tomorrow when... ! But curiosity had held tomorrow at bay. Curiosity, not only in Bryce, but in herself.

Pandora-like, she had used her first freedom to search, and had met no trouble in finding what Bryce had not bothered to hide. The whip had looked up at her from the drawer with an almost personal air of complacence. It was beautifully new and shiny, wickedly tapering. Beside it lay a set of handcuffs, gleaming and cruel and shockingly provocative. She had been obliged to fight down a lust to fit one round her wrist. She had found in them a shivery delight, a sensuous promise which annoyed yet intrigued. It was the following day that she stumbled on the limber length of the slender riding crop in the hall closet. It, too, had its own personality—waiting.

Ginny said. “Hello, Mrs. Hammill. I knew Mummy would show me to you sooner or later.”