F Campbell - Golden Wrists

“I’ll bet you’re going to lock me in that thing and cane my bottom,” she said as though it were her idea. “My poor bottom’s been caned a great deal lately, Miss Durrant. Perhaps you wouldn’t mind caning me somewhere else.”

“For instance...?”

“I couldn’t help noticing all those other girls in the big cage, and all those marks across their bottoms. Perhaps, if it’s all the same to you. Miss Durrant, you don’t have to cane me at all because it’s already been done.” She gave me an understanding smile. “If you put me in among all those other girls, they won’t be able to tell if I got these marks today or yesterday.” She grinned. “I’m not all that keen on getting caned there where I sit down, it hurts terribly. So if you wouldn’t mind...?”

The little so and so was echoing my own thoughts. I had no wish to add stripes to youthful contours already marked up. But it’s not practical to use a cane upon a girl’s back. And I certainly was not going to use it on any other part. I lifted the upper yoke of the pillory and said, crisply, “Get yourself inside here and stop telling me what to do.”

There was only a momentary pause, and, even though she could have gotten the best of me in a struggle, Miss Phomie Prendella arranged herself neatly within the spaces only just big enough to accommodate girlish wrists and neck.

Obviously she felt no ill. “I thought it best to try. Miss Durrant. I do understand your position. If you’ve all the other girls, you absolutely must cane me, too. Please don’t feel guilty.”

I felt guilty as hell and snapped the yoke down hard and let Phomie hear the click of the padlock which meant she could stay there forever if I so desired. “Six strokes on your bottom,” I snapped at her in an effort to maintain control. “Scream all you like.”

Phomie did not scream even through I must have hurt her brutally. By now my aim was quite remarkably accurate, and I planted the cane only on those areas not previously scored. My African beauty made no sound, her only recognition of the punishment was the shifting of her feet and tensing of her arms as I added six more ridges upon her flesh. I left her there to stand while I returned to my desk to make believe I was dealing with bits of paper that really mattered. The scent of Africa filled my room to make me long to take this girl to my bed.

When I had dealt with Phomie’s introduction to Rockley, I tied her wrists and elbows in the same manner as with Elizabeth Lord. I noted that as my cords looped and bit deeply into her skin, her breathing increased along with mine. In self-defense I hurried with the most unkind binding there is for a girl, clamping Phomie’s elbows tight and knotting viciously, while at the same time explaining to her that she would find another girl in the cage tied the same way. And that, if either of them could get the other free, they were at liberty to do so. When I opened the cage door and thrust the black girl inside, I was conscious of casting my bread upon the waters in the hope it would return to me ten-fold. Approximately fifty young women would yield obedience. They were mine!

Her reaction to the neatly spread out tunic was instant. “I stopped wearing those silly things five years ago and I’m not going to start wearing them now!”

“Would you prefer twenty strokes with the cane, dear?”

Cynthia was undeniably shocked and seized upon the only deficiency. “There’s no panties and no bra, the whole thing’s indecent. It’s worse than being naked!”

“You may have both bra and panties, dear, if you don’t mind them being lined with stinging nettles.”

We allowed the awful suggestion to hover above our prisoner. “You wouldn’t!” Cynthia stared in wild disbelief.

Possibly I should explain that the English stinging nettle is like the American poison ivy. Any girl who had to wear undergarments lined with that plant’s leaves would soon be itching and burning something fierce. Cynthia considered the possibility and extended a pair of maiden hands in meek surrender. “If you’ll take off these handcuffs, I’ll dress the way you wish.” Rockley held all the cards so the end result was always the same.

After a while we tired of the individual sport, and with a dozen school-clad maidens among their fellows in the cage, dumped a pile of tunics inside the cage with instructions to have them on or face the cane. I had never unlocked so many handcuffs in my life. The one exception was Elizabeth Lord.

Elizabeth was a beautiful woman and wore her nakedness with nonchalance. As usual, she spoke first. “I’ve wondered about this school girl thing. Half the girls have to tug and stretch. You’re going to have a lot of ruptured seams.”

I unlocked one cuff and clasped it with it’s fellow on her left wrist as I motioned to my desk on which reposed a waiting badge of shame. “Try this one, Elizabeth.”

“I’m going to look silly.”

“Put it on anyway.”

She shrugged, her raised eyebrow could have meant anything.

When she had tugged the white blouse into place, she laughed. “These things are for girls who don’t have breasts. Good gosh, look at mine!”

It had the effect I desired. I did not want Elizabeth simply one of the girls, I wanted her as Elizabeth. And she would evoke either giggles or awe, When she saw the corset she exclaimed, “You can’t possibly mean this. Miss Durrant! If I cinch that corset around my middle. I’ll be honestly ashamed.”

“Do it!”

I had caught her interest. The corset intrigued, it was a pretty thing and would be cruel in its clasp on any maiden above the age of twelve. To do it right, Elizabeth removed the blouse she had just donned to fit the waist-cincher around her already flat tummy for good effect. She had obviously had a previous acquaintance with such an artful constriction but I said nothing of my suspicion. When it was fitted in place to her satisfaction, she turned and thrust the deadly laces to my attention, while placing her free hands upon the top of her head and saying, mischievously, “There you are, Miss Durrant, do your worst.”

I didn’t do my worst but took my time. Little by little I constricted an already narrow waist into the remarkable effect of flared hips and an upthrust bust. The effect was breathtaking and as far removed from school days as a girl could get. The white blouse now bulged delightfully, showing taut nipples beneath the silk. I handed my prisoner the blue serge.

“I suppose you realize I can scarcely breath.” Elizabeth said in unconcern, “And you’ve had this tunic altered to fit no girl that ever was ... Holly cow!”

The effect was gorgeously erotic - almost no waist at all but plenty of breasts and hips! In pure mercy, I allowed her to sit while I tugged on the bobby socks and shoes. I was nervous as to what might happened if she bent down.

When I had once more cuffed her wrists, and led her to my room and the big mirror, before which we stood in mutual admiration of a contoured creation of beauty. I then made her sit while I converted the loveliness of her hair into a couple of school girl pigtails with wide blue ribbons at each end. Not until them did my constricted captive ask, “But what’s it prove, Miss Durrant? Except to make me feel silly and a sex object every girl is going to giggle over. Or is this only a prelude to publicly caning my bottom?” She laughed delightedly. “If I can manage to bend over for it, of course!”

Mindful of my weakness where Elizabeth was concerned, I put her back in the cage and stood watching long enough to hear the oooh’s and ah’s, and watch the cluster of schoolgirls form around this one who was one of them and yet not one of them. I went back to my office to do some thinking.