F Campbell - Golden Wrists

I suddenly realized I possessed hands, and with breasts and other parts still covered. I got off Hugo’s knee and knelt in front of the man who held us all in the power of one hand. I couldn’t make much of a speech but said, “Thank you, oh, thank you!” over and over again, and meant every word until Constance interposed.

“I’d be glad for a length of rope, Diane, if you’ve got one handy. I like to tie a girl’s elbows tight behind her back when she’s in transit. The poor darlings get such silly notions of escape.”

As Constance went about her task, I watched in a fascination prompted by memories of biting rope, shinning steel, and the delightful pain that comes from extremely tight strictures. If Constance’s predication about Margo ran true, she would have fought, but she did not fight. Instead she stood very erect as her wrists were locked behind her back and her elbows bound in what I knew had to be a most painful constriction. When she asked for one more brandy, I wasn’t sure whether to give it to her. But Andrew Everleigh nodded and I held the glass to her lips. She gulped down the potent liquid and I knew that, at least for the first part of her journey, she would be feeling no pain. In fact, she looked as if she would be enjoying the experience immensely.

Uncle Andrew took the floor, “This whole business of possessing slavegirls is extremely basic and its origin is way back in history. Possessing a slavegirl, or several slavegirls, is a desire inherent in every male. Every home should have at least one, or perhaps more according to the man’s substance. At home, at Rockley, I have a considerable collection in a cage. I am sure Diane has told you of it. A strange facet of this wish is that no matter how many we have, we are always prepared to purchase one more. I seem to recall that King Solomon owned three hundred of the little dears, or was it a thousand. I forget. It is a precedent we should no ignore.”

“Look here, Sir, you don’t intend to be cruel to this girl, do you?”

Hugo was once more being Male.

“Don’t disturb yourself. Mr. Markham. Slavegirls enjoy a certain amount of cruelty and despise a master who never uses a whip. I am sure Diane will acquaint you with female inclinations upon request. But I suspect you have already dealt with this subject. I have little doubt her skin is marked.”

I suggested we retire to the office and sign the papers, mostly to inform Hugo that we should quit while we were ahead. Uncle Andrew couldn’t be on his way too soon. If I hadn’t known Margo was in her heart’s delight, I would have tried to do something, but what the hell can you do for a girl who would fight you if you tried to free her? Margo was still tight bound against the wall with a slightly silly smile on her face. I could tell that she was getting high on more than just the brandy and envied her such a great love of pure bondage. I mean, I like being tied, but she adored it! We signed the documents with a fine flourish of satisfaction and Uncle Andrew and Constance departed with their prize. It was the biggest sigh of relief I’d ever heaved.

“Good gosh, that was a streak of luck!” Hugo said happily.

“Damn it, this is a lot better than I’d ever dared hope. Sweetheart, are you okay? I mean your conscious doesn’t bother you about anything?”

“Only about Margo, but there’s not much we can do about her. She sold herself.”

“Don’t let’s drink too much of this stuff, Diane.” Hugo’s suggestion was close to an order. “I don’t want to get looped because I’m feeling the strain of all this emotion and tensing myself up tight for your honor. Or something ... The way I feel right now...”

“I am sure I know the way you feel.” I was way ahead of Hugo.

Emotional trauma always makes a man long for intercourse, or to whip a girl’s bottom. Usually it’s both. “Okay, I won’t complain. Should I strip?”

I stripped, then held out my hands to be bound. I was excited and under pretty much the same influence as my master, the man who now owned me safely. But Hugo waved away my passive wrists and, grasping a handful of my hair, propelled me downstairs to whatever fate his male caprice might favor. I was meek as a lamb.

“You know I want to whip you?”

“Of course! I’m your property.”

Hugo fixed my hands above my head, well stretched but not too high. I would be able to kick and struggle to my heart’s content as he appeased his demons with weals upon my skin. When he strapped my wrists far tighter than there was any need. I found myself enveloped in such a flood of sensuality as to cause my breasts to heave and my lips to gasp in a totally illogical ecstasy of pure lust. I was every bit as bad as Hugo!

I had expected to be savagely flogged but in this was wrong.

Hugo was in a conversational mood to say nothing of having a huge erection which explained his fingering and palming of my pussy. The whole thing was delicious, and I refused to think of pain to come or how I would behave. I had put such maiden modesty behind me long ago.

“Are you happy, sweetheart?” Hugo asked. It was a ridiculous question but he was sincere.

“I’m so happy I want to cry,” I told Hugo without a single tear.

“It’s knowing you want me the way you do that makes me feel this way. You know I hate being whipped, but I want it right now in a way I’ve never wanted it before. Don’t bother about my screams.”

My nakedness was suddenly enveloped in Hugo’s hot embrace. I could feel his phallus longing for my sheath but contentedly knew it would be waiting when all else was done. I was the luckiest of girls! In a ridiculous mood of self immolation, I asked, “Are there other things you’ll do go be besides the whip?”

“Like what, for instance?”

“Well, a girl can’t ever be sure. Maybe stringing me up by my thumbs? Or making me sit on the edge of a plank the way you’ve told me about. I don’t want it. I’m just asking.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, sweetheart.” Hugo bit my ear and thrust hard at my bare belly as my breasts rubbed against his shirt. “You’ve never wanted anything more in your whole life than what you know you’re going to get. I expect we should both thank Uncle Andrew for this moment. Are you ready?”

“I’ve been ready for a long time. Please whip me, Hugo.”

Hugo whipped me with five swift, wicked strokes as if he could not contain himself. I knew he was thinking of Margo and wishing he had not so easily surrendered a guiltless girl to Andrew Everleigh’s tender mercies. If my pain eased his, I was content. I tried desperately to tell him how I felt but could only get out gasps and moans as I dealt with the pain as best I could. After the fourth stroke I began screaming.

It was a wonderful beginning.

“I’ve marked you enough, Diane,” Hugo said regretfully after the eight stroke across my burning bottom. “This is the third time you’ve been whipped in a few days. We’re going to have to seek fresh ground. Spread your legs apart.”

I wondered if I should be grateful. It had never been Hugo’s idea to whip me now, and when I had asked for it, I had also forgotten how severely marked up my bottom already was. What he was about to do to me probably made good sense, but as I widened my legs apart, I felt ten times more naked than before. When I had got my legs as far apart as strapped wrists permitted. I asked timidly, “Is that okay?”

“Splendid, really splendid! You’re a wonderful girl, Diane. Look, if you want me to stop right now. I will.”

“No, go ahead.”

The first upward cut between my thighs told me I should have stopped while I was winning, I knew Hugo would not stop now, having once given me the opportunity to retreat. I whimpered distressfully as this fresh burn spread venom through my secret place and beyond. The temptation to close my legs tight was almost irresistible, but I forced myself to stay wide and open. I coped with the agony by tugging with the straps and moaning.