F Campbell - Drusilla

There was a round of applause. Before it withered, the first B.B. shot impinged on Drusilla’s left breast. She yelped, more in surprise and indignation than pain.

Quigley announced an addendum: “The subject is permitted such contortions as her circumstances allow.”

It was a beastly kind of giggle, ludicrous and demeaning.

The pellets hurt enough to compel a flinch. There would be no standing on her dignity. Her nipples were the favorite, a satisfying bulls-eye. When a pellet impacted on a pink bud, Drusilla yelped. If they enjoyed her yelp, let ’em! She was past caring. The straps permitted her to make small, evasive twists, but she refused to give them such satisfaction, and anyway, there was no real accuracy. Mostly she stood, wincing when she must, flinching or yelping when shrewder shots achieved simultaneous impacts on tender flesh. Slowly, the spent pellets accumulated around her feet.

Once only, she allowed her eyes to lock with Diana’s.

They exchanged mute misery. Their slavery was total. They had become pets, nourished to provide erotic sport, their nakedness a common property. As she obeyed the compulsion of the column, Drusilla sometimes looked apprehensively back over a wracked shoulder, fearful of some fresh infliction catching her unaware.

A male sharpshooter folded his envelope and inquired hopefully: “Anyone going to look in her cunt?”

“There’s nothing in there!” Drusilla’s assurance was vehement.

“Got any darts, Quig’ old boy?”

“How about whipping her ass?”

They were so happy! Drusilla marveled at the versatility of a girl’s nakedness to provide joy. It was like being loved! She drooped wearily against her belted wrists when the last bit of lead rebounded from her skin and joined its fellows on the floor.

“I think we should move on to the next,” said Quigley. “Next what, Quig’? You got something up your sleeve?” Quigley took the floor. He coughed in the manner approved to demand attention. His mien was that of a senator seeking re-election for the fifth time. “We are privileged this evening to take part in a ritual, a ritual that, regrettably, comes Our way all too seldom,” he informed, savoring every word. “Our charming Drusilla is to be replaced by one of our number who has transgressed beyond the bounds of tolerance.” He paused to generate full impact. Then dropped his bomb. “Mrs. Diana Winslow is to be flogged.”

first a breathless silence, then excited chatter. All eyes turned to the woman who sat with head bowed, striving to hide her face with one chained hand, its fellow drawn helpless behind her back. Drusilla looked from face to face in frantic appeal.

“Quigley, don’t! You mustn’t! Oh, Minnie, don’t let him.”

“Shut up, Drew,” Belinda Pendleton ordered without rancour. “Feel lucky it’s not you. It could be.”

Diana got slowly to her feet. Her chained hands fell, listless, at her hips. She faced the woman who wanted her flogged. In utterly feminine pleading, she threw her pride to the winds.

“Belinda, I beg of you, show me mercy. Please don’t have me flogged.”

There came a round of applause. In some bizarre way it seemed appropriate.

“You won’t die, Diana.”

“It’s too awful a thing to do to any woman.” Diana looked agonizedly at the hungry faces of her friends.

“You’ll be proud of your back—after!”

“But it’s so unfair. I haven’t done anything! Belinda—!”

“Button your lip, girl!” Belinda ordered amiably.

“You’ve done plenty and you know it. Just being you’s enough.” She beamed cordially at all. “It’s going to be such a come down for the darling. I’m willing to take bets she’ll scream beautifully.”

There were no takers. Just an excited murmur of approval. None present voiced a word in defense of the chained and naked beauty who had been a dynamic member of their circle, but who was now a slave.

“All right!” Diana’s voice demanded attention. “If you must use me—” Her gaze roved the room and found no ally. “Can’t you be halfway decent about it? There’s no need to flog me.”

“But, darling, it isn’t going to be a cat-o’-nine-tails. We’ve got the loveliest whip!”

150

“No coddling!” Belinda again took possession of the floor. “I want Diana flogged, and flogged she shall be! I want her humble.”

“But look at me! Can I be more humble than this?” Diana tried, impotently, to raise her chained hands in supplication. The loose white sheath in which she had been clothed fell limply to the floor. Her helpless nakedness was so beautiful it evoked a moment of hushed admiration. The captive Drusilla stared, as fascinated as the rest.

Events moved smoothly. Perhaps they had been prearranged. Helen Frobisher wound a firm hand in Diana’s hair. Others loosed her chains and held her arms. Save for one instinctive motion of revolt, quickly quelled, the captive woman allowed herself to be escorted in helplessness to the place of her punishment.

It was the same with Drusilla. An authoritative feminine hand possessed itself of silken strands, and complained, giggling, “Oh, damn, no handcuffs!”

Male hands loosed her wrists. It was good to get her arms back. For a moment the reprieved captive considered flight. But those who held her would enjoy a tussle. Her breasts and pubes would be harshly handled before she was again tightly bound. She knew her company. She stood passively while the male chuckled: “Damn good excuse to get rid of my tie.” A moment later she discovered how well adapted the male adornment was to female wrists. Hers were cunningly circled, cinched and knotted. The tie felt more secure than rope.

“What about her feet?”

“Let her walk around. She can’t do anything.”

Bereft of her place in the spotlight, Drusilla felt lost. She had become a piece of surplus baggage. It was Diana who was “On Stage.” Unobtrusively, she devoted her strength to besting the foulard about her wrists. Surely... ? But the hands were snug, the knot beyond her reach. She looked longingly at the door. But she had seen it closed and locked. As though carried by a wave, she found herself a part of the circle that would witness her darling Mistress’ humbling. Her own nudity and tied hands received scant attention.

It was strangely formal. The occupants of the room were witness to a happening. Diana had acquired a presence. Belinda radiated purpose. Quigley hovered, watchful for the niceties of the occasion, The rest, including Minnie, were enraptured spectators of a woman’s shame.

When it came to the strapping of her wrists, Diana fought. Drusilla knew the ‘now or never’ compulsion to evade the total helplessness that would deliver her nudity in which the frightened woman sank to the floor against the grappling hands. But the column from above followed her down. Helen’s grip upon her hair dragged back her head. Male fingers were strong in the buckling of the straps round rebellious wrists. Then, before a breathless audience, Diana was obliged to follow the dictates of the column at it once more rose, forcing her to scramble to her feet, and then to stand with arms held high, taut and strained and proudly naked.

“Diana, you’re lovely. Don’t feel badly... ”

“Take her up another inch or two.”

“It will hurt her more if her skin’s well tightened.”

“What about her ankles?”

“Let her have her feet. It’s lovely when they kick.” Drusilla shared the shame. Her own wrists still bore the imprints of the straps. She wrenched at them restlessly in frustration. Agonizedly she beheld her darling stand as she herself had stood. Captive of the column, a vulnerable loveliness available to pain.

Diana knew herself lost. The straps were brutally tight. They would contain her writhings. In the firmness of their clasp she would be able to lift herself from the floor in a futile seeking to escape the lash. Her hurt. eyes sought and found those of her slave. She smiled and shook her head as though in denial that what was about to happen mattered. She closed her eyes and surrendered her lips to a silence that might be short. A mental vision of Ginny crossed her mind. Where would the radiant child be now! Doubtless locked lonely in her own cell. Bound. Frantic with concern for those from whom she had been sundered. Ardently she prayed they would not transport her to witness her mother’s punishment. It would be too cruel.