F Campbell - Drusilla

The gag was a punishment. She was hating it more with every minute. It made her drool and turned her experimental screams into tiny mockeries of sound. There could be little doubt the rising sun would find her as tightly secured as when she was left alone. She uttered a heartfelt but silent “Damn!”

She could have been warm in bed! The price of that comfort began to seem small when compared to her present plight. Quigley knew his stuff. She could well picture poor Minnie or herself greeting him tearfully and gratefully when he deigned to release them. Drusilla tossed her hair in bitter frustration. It was the only motion she could make.

She was a slave! And this was the sort of thing a slave might expect. Slavery to a Master would bear little resemblance to slavery to Diana. Only the rope would be the same. Resentfully she faced the certainty of becoming amenable to her Master’s love-making. Quite probably she would eventually be grateful for his attention. He would never allow herself and Minnie... !

The sound was faint, but it was there! She tensed fearfully within her bonds, envisioning creatures of the night. But the sounds persisted and became more positive. Someone was exploring the Albertsons’ garden. When the shadow became real before herself and her tree, she was too petrified to do more than whimper into her gag. Under its prolonged scrutiny, she cringed in total impotence.

“Why, Mrs. Hammill!”

Petty Prentiss’ voice was thrilled and intrigued. At the sound of its youthful excitement, the prisoner of the tree exhaled a great sigh of thankfulness...

Young but nimble fingers brought blessed relief from a hateful gag.

“Petty—Oh, thank God! Oh, Petty -!”

Petty tittered. “Is this for fun, Mrs. Hammill, or should I let you loose?”

“Let me loose! Oh, darling, quick!”

“I thought something was wrong, so I broke a window and got in. Ginny was locked and chained in the cell and I had no keys. But she told me where to come; to come and see if I could find—! I say, Mrs. Hammill, should I have gone to the police?”

“No, dear, no. You did absolutely right. But please oh, please untie me.”

“And Ginny didn’t know about Mrs. Winslow. Is she there?”

“She will be when we get there. You will help me, Petty?”

Petty giggled. Evidently she had never been tied to a tree. “Of course I’ll help, Mrs. Hammill. I’m so thrilled. I told Mummy I was spending the night with Ginny—it’s not really a fib.”

“No, of course not! Oh, Petty, I’m so glad you came. Hurry!”

“You do look nice like that, Mrs. Hammill. I do envy you and Mrs. Winslow and Ginny. Is Mrs. Winslow tied up somewhere?”

“Petty! Please! Get me loose!”

“Oops, sorry! But, like I said, you do look so sweet—” The young fingers had trouble with Quigley’s knots.

Drusilla needed all her fortitude to fight back panic while they fumbled. If her Master returned and found them—! She longed to help but could not. She was totally helpless. With the falling away of each rope her suspense deepened. So much to lose! So much to gain! When, at last, she was joined to her tree by no more than the foulard on her wrists, her rescuer paused and became thoughtful.

“I say, Mrs. Hammill, what are we going to do?”

“Get me loose, that’s what!” Drusilla knew herself still helpless.

“Yes, for sure! But I mean... You’re naked.” Petty desisted in her endeavor and returned to view, obviously puzzling. “I mean, back at Ginny’s place, do we break in again?”

“Yes. Oh. Petty—!”

“But suppose we get captured?” Petty sounded hopeful. “We won’t! But if someone grabs me, you run for the police, O.K.?”

“O.K. Oh, Mrs. Hammill, this is so gorgeously exciting! But what about the keys to the cell and an that?”

“I think I know where to find them. Petty, are you going to untie—!”

“Oh, wow, I forgot! Just a moment.”

It was more than a moment. Drusilla could believe it hours before the adornment for a male neck was peeled from her damp wrists and her hands became her own again. She massaged in an ecstasy of thankfulness.

“Isn’t it lucky I’m wearing panties and bra, Mrs. Hammill? You can have my dress.”

Petty’s slender covering suffered in the exchange. But it rendered Drusilla’s breasts and pubic hair into a tenuous privacy. They traversed the midnight streets like active moonbeams, hiding when they must, running gleefully when they could.

“It’s the little window by the back door, Mrs. Hammill.” It was still broken, the sash still raised. They climbed into the familiar utility room. Stealing quietly downstairs into the passage, they heard a familiar voice.

“Mumsy, don’t take on so. If it wasn’t for these handcuffs behind my back I’d—” There came the murmur of another voice, low and lost.

“But, Mummy, will it be for always? Won’t she ever let us free?”

Diana’s voice became clearly audible. “Ginny darling, I don’t know. I don’t know anything anymore. Mrs. Pendleton can go home to her own place every night, just like now, and come back to us during the day. It looks foolproof. I think she’ll keep us a long time. We’d better resign ourselves to that.”

“Why does she handcuff us? We can’t get out of the cell.”

“It amuses her—and keeps me so I can’t do anything.”

“You mean, like fight? And she didn’t have to hang the keys on the passage wall where we can see ’em but can’t reach. ”

“It doesn’t matter where they are, Ginny.”

“Yes, it does, darlings. It matters a lot.”

“Drusilla! ! !”

Two captive faces turned eagerly to the bars.

“And Petty!!!” Two voices spoke rapturously in unison.

Then exclaimed in amazement, “You’re not handcuffed!”

“Free as a bird,” Drusilla gloried in their joy. “You mean it’s over?”

“Your slavery is. In the morning we’ll catch Belinda unaware and give her a taste of her own medicine. Three of us should be able to handle her.”

“Make it four?” implored Petty.

“Oh, Drew, I do love you!” Ginny was once again the joyous moppet with sparkling eyes.

“It’s Petty you have to thank.”

The keys were used to the accompaniment of delighted chatter. When Ginny’s handcuffs were removed, her bottom was patted and she was told to go and find clothes and make coffee. There were hugs and kisses and a scampering of youthful feet. When the Mistress and her slave were alone in the suddenly empty cell they stood awkwardly in indecision.

“Am I still handcuffed on purpose, Drew?” Diana’s voice was wary.

“Yes.”

“You’re going to reverse our roles, darling? Maybe you should.” Diana sounded weary. She grinned wanly at her erstwhile slave. “That bitch spoiled things. I feel soiled, and cheap, and ineffectual. I’m no Mistress.”

“Yes, you are.”

“I screamed... ! Oh, Drew!”

“I’d have screamed, too.”

“But I’m me! At least, I was me! Now I don’t know. Drew, leave me handcuffed. So long as it’s you—”

“I intend to.”

Diana tensed, her head reared, then drooped. “I don’t mind. I’m glad. Keep me always—the way I was going to keep you.”

Drusilla became a whirlwind of arms and lips. “Silly, silly! Ginny can’t possibly have a slave girl for a mother.”

They looked at each other and laughed. “I’d forgotten that,” Diana admitted. “But you’re keeping me handcuffed for something. What is it? Tell me?”

“You’ll stay handcuffed until I’m sure you’re going to be sensible.”

“Drew darling, if you mean being your Mistress again, I can’t. It’s ruined. You saw what Belinda made of me. Everyone saw. I’m just Diana. That’s all.”