F Campbell - Drusilla

“Crazy!”

“And wonderful.”

They looked at each other in discovery. It was Diana who broke the silence.

“I’d like to whip you; Dru’?”

Drusilla got decisively to her feet and offered her hand.

In a silence neither of them needed to break, they retraced their steps.

A helpless Ginny viewed their return with eyes that were big question marks. But she, too, was chary of words. When the bar was lowered and her wrists unstrapped her youthful resilience reasserted itself. “Am I forgiven?” she asked hopefully.

“You’re forgiven, poppet, but only because we need the bar.”

“Coooo... Oh, wowie!” The child’s orbs sparkled. “One of you’s going to be whipped?”

“Watch that tongue, girl,” Diana admonished. “Be grateful and run along while you’re home free.”

Thankfully rubbing chafed wrists, the teenager looked from one to the other of the two women. “Can’t I watch?”

“No, you can’t! Vamoose.”

Drusilla blushed under the youthful, speculative gaze. “I bet it’s Mrs. Hammill who’s going to get it,” Ginny said with the wisdom of intuition. “It’s not fair I can’t watch. You watched me get it, Mrs. Hammill.”

“Let her stay,” Drusilla laughed. Her mind was in such turmoil that Ginny’s presence was without menace. Besides, she liked the girl.

Diana was still a mother. “Two on each hand,” she said decisively. “That’s the price of indulgence. Want to pay it, Ginny?”

“Oh, Motherrrrr!”

Ginny’s exclamation was a feminine blend of vexation and acceptance. But it left no doubt as to her willingness to pay the painful price.

For Drusilla it happened very quickly. Diana disposed of the shapeless frock and scarlet panties with an air of disdain. Drusilla moved as in a dream, placing her wrists and watching them snugly strapped as though they belonged to someone else. The leather was soft and warm and slightly damp from Ginny. The two women were very close, their vibes almost tangible.

“You do look lovely, Mrs. Hammill.” Ginny was enraptured.

“Shall we leave her the garter belt, the nylons and the shoes?” Diana now treated her exuberant daughter as a partner.

“Yes, please, Mumsie! They’re so—so—! You do want to wear them, don’t you, Mrs. Hammill?”

“It’s not for her to say,” the mother chided: “Her corset’s locked on, so we may as well maintain the ensemble.”

“And her bottom does stick out so nicely. It’s—it’s sort of framed.” Ginny was breathless.

“With that corset I can’t whip your back properly, darling,” Diana decided thoughtfully. “So I’ll cane your derriere same as I did Ginny. O.K.?”

“Yes, please.”

Ginny might have said it. The affirmative was a child’s acceptance. In a strange transformation she had returned to adolescence. Her sit-me-down was about to be punished with a cane. Drusilla refused to think. She surrendered her whole being to sensation. When the bar ceased to rise and she was almost on tip-toe, her principal awareness was of vulnerability. The erotic scraps fastened upon her nakedness offered no protection at all.

“Since you’re here, poppet, you might as well start things off. Here’s the cane.” Diana’s voice held mischief.

“Oh, Mummy, you’re so sweet! I say, Mrs. Hammill, you don’t mind?”

“Go ahead, dear. Do as Mummy says.”

“Oh, Mrs. Hammill, I do think you’re nice. But I’ll hit you terribly hard. I won’t be a bit kind.”

“I’m sure that’s the proper way, dear.”

“And you won’t hate me after?”

“Get on with it, you little vixen. You’re deliberately making her quiver.” Diana’s admonition was maternally discerning.

In the flash of agony, Drusilla had a momentary vision of how she must look. Mouth agape fighting a scream, eyes staring in dismay, her torso and legs obscenely active.

“Worse than you thought, darling.” Diana made a complacent statement. It was not a question.

“Yessss—oh yes! Oh—!”

“The first one’s always awful, Mrs. Hammill.”

The second was no better. Drusilla was prepared to believe it worse. The third brought capitulation.

“I don’t think I can stand it.” Drusilla’s admission was tremulous. “I’m awfully sorry... ”

“Now you grasp what I mean about the compulsion, darling. Give her a really good one, Ginny. Square across. Not on her hip.”

Drusilla beheld a vast abyss. What had she done? What had she allowed Bryce and Diana to inveigle her into? The story of Elaine and the clanging door had become real. Looking up at the straps about her wrists she knew herself lost. “Please... !” she whimpered. “Don’t be mean.” The cut was very mean indeed. Drusilla abandoned silence.

“You react so beautifully, Mrs. Hammill.” Ginny was awed.

“I’d like to be unstrapped, please,” Drusilla quavered.

“Ginny knows how you feel. Don’t you, Ginny?”

“It’s sort of beautiful terrible, Mrs. Hammill.”

Drusilla considered the next scald across her flesh as terrible. Its beauty escaped her. “Oh, stop it! Oh, don’t do this! Diana, make her stop.”

“You’re thinking we don’t understand how it hurts, darling.” Diana’s words were placidly reasonable. “But we do, don’t we, Ginny?”

“Do we ever!” Ginny’s agreement was fervid. “Give me the cane, dear.”

Drusilla’s scream was part anger, part protest, but mostly pain. She felt herself curling up from the awfulness of the searing blow. Bemusedly she realised she had lifted herself from the floor in a writhing seeking of an impossible escape.

“That’s all, darling. Ginny, you run along now.”

It was heaven to be rid of the straps. To know herself returned to the world. To fling her arms around Diana’s neck and sob. To have Diana’s hands pat her back and, tenderly, trace the weals on her bottom.

“Ashamed, darling?”

“Yes,” Drusilla sniffed.

“So you should be! Such a fuss!”

“But it’s so awful! Couldn’t you have—?”

“No. It’s best you know. Next time there won’t be the shock.”

“There won’t be a next time.”

“Yes, there will. In thirty minutes you’ll be horny. Maybe you are now. Let me feel.”

Unconsciously, Drusilla separated her legs. Diana’s hand tested.

It came away wet.

“That virgin ass belonged to me, ’Silla.”

“If you hadn’t turned me over you wouldn’t have seen it.” Drusilla complained petulantly. “We had the loveliest time... and then you had to do that.”

“Sensational, wasn’t it!” A naked Bryce gazed down at his naked wife on a crumpled bed. Interestedly, he traced the angry weals on her bottom with an inquisitive finger. “Were these the reason?”

“Yes.” The admission was grudging. “How d’you know?”

“I’ve been horny ever since Diana did it to me. It’s absurd.”

“No, it isn’t. I think we’ve stumbled onto something. With a whipped ass you’re the most fantastic lay.”

“Well, I’m not getting myself whipped again. It was awful. ”

“It’s right in there with our deal, Drusilla.”

“We don’t have a deal.”

“I haven’t noticed you packing any bags, sweetheart.” The naked wife lay silent with her thoughts. When the tracery of male fingertips paused, she implored: “Don’t stop, darling, it feels so good.”

“And what do I get?”

“Another fantastic?”

“It’s a deal.”

With her scorched bottom imparting wave after wave of golden sensation, Drusilla considered decision. She could not make one. Retreat as she might, decision followed relentlessly, a demanding Nemesis. She wondered if her adventure with Diana and Ginny had affected her will to decide. She did not think so. The caning of her bottom had brightened her. But its aftermath had been a wave of passion such as she had never known. She would have called it lust but the word had a bad sound.