F Campbell - Drusilla

“Then you can stay handcuffed.”

“But, Drew... ?”

“Ginny can have one key and I’ll have the other. We’ll keep you as a pet.”

“Drusilla!! !”

“Yes, darling?”

“We can’t! I’d love it, I’m shamed! But there’s Ginny.”

“I knew I’d have this trouble with you,” Drusilla said cheerfully. “If you won’t have me for your slave, I’ll make a present of myself to Ginny. She’d put my handcuffs back on in two seconds flat.”

“And cane your bottom to boot, I’ve no doubt.” Diana managed a wry grin.

“Well, what’s it to be? Want me to call Ginny?”

“Oh, Drew!” There was infinite longing in the words.

“Yes, Mistress?”

“You’re too beautiful. Too perfect. I don’t deserve—”

“I also love you.”

The pause was brief. Diana turned her back. “Unlock me.”

It was a precious moment. When Diana turned again, her slave girl held the handcuffs and the key. They looked deep into each other’s eyes before she proffered them. When the Mistress took the familiar metal in her hands, she asked softly: “Front or back, dear?”

“In front, Mistress,” Drusilla requested demurely. “I have to lift my coffee cup.” She knelt and raised her hands. The shining steel was warm, prisoning her wrists with its own special sounds, tightly and forever.

“You look so sweet,” said Ginny from the door. “I told her the same thing,” said Petty proudly.