F Campbell - Golden Wrists

“Why tell me?”

“Well, I know you’re going to do something to me, and I know you have to. We’re sort of boxed in on account of our age. If I was nineteen. I wouldn’t be noticed.”

“If you had those breasts, you would!”

A long silence drifted deliciously. Elizabeth had made me very happy, even without the use of hands. She constantly complained of the cutting of the twine, but I paid no heed. I was a trifle scared of Elizabeth.

“Darling, you really should consider what I’ve suggested. You and I should change roles. You have trouble bringing yourself to punish me. But I wouldn’t have a bit of trouble punishing you. All you have to do is give Betty and Constance orders. How about it?”

“It’s a crazy idea. I’m no way submissive.”

“But with me you wouldn’t hate it. I suspect you’d adore everything I did to you.”

“I ought to gag you, you’re a menace.”

“And don’t you love it, darling!” I loved it. The next day I had Elizabeth whipped. She and I knew it was in self-defense.

Somehow I had to assert myself as mistress of Rockley. I had no idea of the degree in which the involvement of Elizabeth with myself was known or understood by the rest of the girls with whom she spent her time in nude captivity. But I knew the little darlings well enough to be pretty sure they would sense the way things were. I combined Elizabeth s erotic notion with my own.

Our audience was intrigued but none more so than I as my cohorts extracted Elizabeth Lord from among the naked girls. Of their own accord the girls stepped back towards the wall as though knowing instinctively center stage would be exactly that and the star was Elizabeth Lord. With me as director and my two aides as executioners.

Elizabeth probably guessed what we were about to do to her but her only glances were for me in her usual amused challenge of the eyes. Relieved of handcuffs but with wrists crossed and unkindly tied behind her back, she stood for all to see, the girl about to be punished.

In a matter of minutes the woman I hungered for lay upon bound arms with feet spread wide and raised high enough to proclaim her sex to every watching eye. She tested this fresh infliction of bondage but discovered she could move very little. It was an unusual situation in which a girl about to be whipped would look up along her belly to see the part of herself destined for punishment Elizabeth was secreting outrageously but so was I!

Constance had concocted a solemn declaration of sentence, which she read aloud to proclaim the sin of pride and the manner in which it must be punished. From somewhere she and Betty had discovered a whip I recognized, a wicked looking thing which would not hurt half as much as watchers might suppose. It was ideal for the cleft between Elizabeth’ s thighs and the breasts she could not conceal. When Elizabeth looked at it, the sunlight ceased to shine in her eyes. Elizabeth was scared and I was glad.

“Fifty strokes.” I heard my voice proclaim the sentence. Fifty was a terrible punishment but I was placing my faith in the whip of Constance’s choosing and the knowledge the girls were being deceived. The whip would hurt as it sought the most intimate creases of that lush and wonderful body, but would be no more than Elizabeth Lord could bear. I could only pray she had the wit to put up a good simulation of utter agony.

My aides took turns, and from the very first Elizabeth picked up her cue and screamed lustily as the thongs slapped cruelly within her cleft, expending their venom on her most secret place. First her crotch then her breasts, back and forth in a slow but steady beat of correction - I loved that word, correction!

When we had punished Mrs. Elizabeth Lord, we left her where she was to enjoy the sympathy of forty-nine girls who could not raise their arms enough behind their backs to set her free. No doubt they had much to talk about and most certainly Elizabeth’s thighs and breasts were scarlet enough for any doubter’s eye. Before leaving the collection of them. I proclaim aloud that if any maiden held doubts about what Elizabeth received, she had only to say so and I would order her to undergo the same treatment No one said a word.

The days passed. Supposing there was an obligation on me to adequately punish these girls, and not allow my sympathy for their delightful curves to intrude upon judgment. I kept Betty and Constance busy with the disposition of feminine bodies. One day all the little darlings, and they weren’t really all that little, were tied tight to trees around the park. The next day they shared the darkness of a dungeon and its chains. I stood them in pillories and stocks, and hung them by their pretty little wrists from the limbs of trees. They were not bored. At the start Elizabeth Lord shared theses indignities, but, after all. I was mistress of Rockley, so had her isolated in a cell and allowed only myself to visit her. Loneliness is a terrible punishment and before long Elizabeth was greeting my arrival with delight. Sometimes I taunted her through the bars and went away. But mostly I unlocked the barred door and entered her prison, an barren little stone and steel place which sent shivers up my spine, always Elizabeth’s hands were bound or chained behind her back. And always she was compelled to wear a collar around her neck attached to the wall by a chain long enough to give some freedom but not egress from the cell. I often left her door open as temptation, knowing she could not use it In this cell with these precautions against Elizabeth’s escape, we became the females we truly were.

“I suppose you’re not allowed to tell me how long my sentence is, how long I have to stay in this beastly place?” It was Elizabeth’s favorite theme.

“I don’t even know and I wouldn’t tell you even if I did,” I said crossly. “Tell me which of us is mistress?”

“I am, of course.” Elizabeth stared in rueful defiance. “But I can’t get off this cords from my wrists or this collar from my neck, so you can go against nature, darling, and do whatever you want with me.” She pursed lush red lips to invite a kiss. “But We both know who the mistress really is, don’t we?”

It was a delicious game and I played it to the full, keeping Elizabeth always under control but allowing her the fantasy of possessing me in chains and suffering beneath the whip. There was no possibility of this fantasy coming true but I thought of it often and wondered at its appeal and the tingling it generated in my sex. If Elizabeth became too insistent in this demand, I punished her by something she disliked, clips upon her nipples or her vaginal lips. Or being forced to stand in immobility by ropes. There was also the stocks and pillory and other disagreeable machinery by which a girl could be secured and punished.

I suppose it was inevitable that after a passage of weeks I would start think of New York and my abandoned law practice there. Controlling and punishing so much teenage flesh began to pall. I think that had there been only one or two girls my interest would have diminished less than with a herd of fifty. I went down to stare through the bars of their cage and wonder what to do with them next. I did the same with Elizabeth, keeping the bars between us as we talked, feeling her longing for freedom as if it were mine own. Unable to ignore mutual attraction. I often took her upstairs to my bed. At such times her hands were tied behind her back but that was all. It would have been nice to have them free for full expression in what we shared but I was frankly scared of the dominance in that woman and the smoldering in her eyes. Having her naked without hands beside me on the bed was a constant thrill and I felt gratitude to Uncle Andrew for making me a gift of so much loveliness beneath which was a female vulgarity to ad spice to our relationship. Finally the moment came when Elizabeth accused, “You’re bored stiff with this whole silly business, aren’t you? I don’t mean you and me but all those girls.”