F Campbell - Drusilla

“You’ve nothing to worry about, dear.”

“Stop chattering, minx, and hold your hand out,” Diana interposed ominously.

“Yes, Mother.”

Obedience was instant. The conversion from nattering nymphet to sweet statue with arm outstretched took but a moment. Ginny’s insouciance was in abeyance.

“Just a little test to show Mrs. Hamill what you’re made of, dear. I’ve thought of something simple.”

“Yes, Mother.”

“No hugging.”

The words were simple. For a bare moment Drusilla failed to comprehend. But Ginny’s wail of anguish told all.

“But, Mother, I can’t help it! My hands do it all by themselves—they hurt so terribly.”

“The first two you must take without moving, dear. After you’ve had the second two, you can hug all you like. Fair enough?”

“I suppose so, Mother. I really will try.”

“If you fail, and start that silly hugging business it means two extra.” Diana’s nonchalance was superb.

“Thank you, Mumsie.” There was no reproach in the young voice.

The handcuffed woman watched in an awareness of privilege. Ginny was one for the book. The child was incredible. The cane whirred and slapped home on the taut palm held out to receive it. The arm was depressed under the force of the blow, but immediately returned to the horizontal. Small, sad sounds came from Ginny’s throat, but her other arm obediently rose. The small, pathetic hand stretched itself, palm up.

“She’s a little sweetheart.” Diana’s maternal pride was unmistakable.

It happened again. Ginny’s eyes were riveted on the wall. The child refused to watch or turn. Her lips were a small, straight line. The second whirring arc cut the tiny hand with cruel precision. Ginny did not move, but the wail her teeth bit back tore at Drusilla’s heart.

“You’re doing fine, dear.”

To the woman who watched, it seemed inadequate praise. The slender youthfulness stood now with both arms extended, head high. The young breasts rose and fell tumultuously. Two hurt hands offered themselves as sacrifice to an impetuous tongue. Diana took her time. Drusilla guessed she was demonstrating her daughter’s total involvement.

This time Ginny’s total nudity responded. It twisted and turned under the bite upon the open palm. But the lapse was momentary. Within seconds the youngster had stiffened and resumed the pose required. Both arms remained outstretched, one hand limp and curled, the other with fingers stiffly inviting the final stroke. With pounding heart, Drusilla watched it happen.

This time Ginny’s response was as old as the centuries.

Immediately her arm flinched under the worst blow of the four she uttered a sobbing wail, bent forward and tucked her punished hands under her armpits. As though making up for her previous fortitude she now gave herself utterly to the absorption of her pain. But even as she sobbed and writhed she enunciated in a clear young voice.

“Thank you, Mummy.”

“You’re welcome, dear. Hurt nicely?”

“Yes—oh, yes!”

“She’s a good kid. Isn’t she, Dru’?”

“I think she’s wonderful,” Drusilla said with heartfelt sincerity. “I don’t think I could have done that.”

“Want to try, darling?”

“Good heavens, no! I’d go crazy after number one.”

“Maybe.” Diana examined her handcuffed friend with amused assessment. “But you never know, do you! Wait till you’re on loan to me.”

“Diana, you wouldn’t?”

“Darling, you know perfectly well I would. In fact, I will.”

Drusilla felt outraged by this incipient betrayal of friendship. But the emotion was heavily laced with the tingling excitement that now seemed a part of all her days. Sulkily, she proclaimed the obvious.

“I won’t hold out my hand.”

“Want to bet?”

Drusilla blushed. She did not want to bet with this new Diana who knew too much. She was conscious that Ginny, whilst still busy hugging, was now taking a lively interest in in the exchange. “I’m not going to let you punish me like a child,” she proclaimed huffily.

“Tell her, Ginny.”

“Oh, Mrs. Hammill, you have to!” Ginny was anxious to offer the voice of experience. “If you don’t do what you’re told Mummy just keeps adding more.”

Drusilla sniffed. She had a suspicion she was being laughed at. “That’s all very well for you, dear,” she said kindly, “But I shall just go home.”

“Will you, darling! What are you wearing?”

Lust flared. She was naked. She was handcuffed. It was another of the new moments of realization. She would go nowhere. How could she! She glared at Diana in mock anger. “Oh, all right, have your fun. And anyway, it’s not likely to happen.”

“Is your bottom still tender, Mrs. Hammill? Mine’s stopped hurting.” Ginny’s query was politely sincere.

“You can dress and run along, poppet.” Diana’s directive was maternal. “And take the cane back with you.”

“Yes, Mother.” Ginny picked up her panties, then paused. “Mother, aren’t you going to cane Mrs. Hammill’s hands?”

“Why should I?”

“Well, I think it would be nice. You are sort of learning, aren’t you, Mrs. Hammill?”

“She can’t hold her hands out wearing those handcuffs,” Diana complained with obvious regret.

“I bet I could.” The girlish voice was eager. “All she’d have to do—”

“Ginny!!!”

“O.K., Mother, O.K., I’m dressing!” The small, swollen hand selected another feminine trifle. But the curiosity was unappeased. “I would so have loved to watch,” she added hopefully.

“Do you want to earn another four?”

It was impossible! Drusilla scarcely believed her eyes.

The bra stopped halfway to the youthful cones. Ginny’s face lit with excitement. “Oh, Mummy, could I!”

Diana’s reply bubbled laughter. “Ask Mrs. Hammill.”

“Oh, Mrs. Hammill, would you—please? I’d so like to watch. All you’d have to do is hold your hands out front instead of sideways. You could put the one that isn’t being caned underneath the one that is. Then change over each time. I’m sure it would work beautifully.”

“Not today, dear. I’m not as brave as you.”

“Poppet, go home!”

“Yes, Mother.”

Ginny’s disappointment was patent. Drusilla felt unkind and knew her values tumbling about her ears. She repressed, with difficulty, an impulse to offer her hand for one stroke only. It was too absurd!

“She’s quite insatiable.” Diana meditated after a once-more-smiling daughter had departed with the cane. “I sometimes wonder what I’ve started there.”

“She’s the happiest child I know.”

“I’m sort of proud of that end of it. But what will happen in a few years with boyfriends and husbands!?”

“Don’t let it happen, Di’.” Drusilla found her voice surprisingly vehement. “Keep the little darling. Keep her always.”

“The way I’m going to keep you?” The query was vibrantly sly.

Again the flame within the latex on her loins! She had known Diana for years—or had she? Were their true natures only now surfacing! Her lips still savored the flavor of her laughing companion. A sudden, delightful vision of a world devoid of Bryce or Hinton flashed and was gone.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Diana persisted.

“Yes.”

It had been easy to say. Once said, it changed everything. Drusilla shivered deliciously and raised her hands so that the handcuffs gleamed. Wonderingly, she said: “Without these—things wouldn’t happen... ”

“Locked on your wrists like that they do a lot of things,” Diana admitted. “They make me horny and force you to recognize something you’d otherwise reject. They stop you turning your back on what you’re scared to face.”