F Campbell - Golden Wrists

“Pretty bad?” Hugo inquired sweetly.

“It’s bloody awful but don’t mind me.” I held my breath for thong’s second delivery of pain.

He gave me five swift, hard strokes up inside with a small whip he said was made especially for that purpose. I took his word for it. That little instrument punished me with an almost personal viciousness. At the end of five, I had screamed a couple of times and was sweating. I was given permission to stand straight for a short period of rest, during which I failed to think logically of anything expect the fire Hugo had created within my crotch. Once more I was comforted by male arms and male lips, and a punished girl’s hope of a speedy end. When Hugo did his familiar cupping of my pussy with his hard male hand, I went absolutely wild. “Sweetheart, you can’t possibly get away, you know,” he reproved gently.

“I know I can’t. I’m sorry Hugo. Jeepers, that hurts!”

“Spread them again. This time you’ll know what to expect.”

I did as I was told. What the hell else could I do! By the end of the second series of five, during which I screamed lustily, Hugo came around to stare at my sweat drenched breasts and scarlet thighs. “Haven’t you had about enough, sweetheart?”

I had had enough and was suddenly and unexpectedly freed of the straps and being carried up to bed. If I had harbored doubt about the ability of my poor, beaten pussy to perform the sexual act, they were scattered to the winds in a surging flood of sensual joy beyond any response I had ever given any man. If the fire had burned low in the night. I would have asked to be whipped again to make its flame flare. There was no need. In the morning I spent time before the big mirror admiring myself like a peacock. Scarlet and purple were much in evidence arid I did not have much desire to sit down. Hugo shared my pleasure, and it was not until after we laughingly argued about who mixed the pigments and applied them to my skin that we suddenly realized I was not handcuffed and bore no bonds at all, an omission instantly corrected by the golden handcuffs I was beginning to adore. Happily, we went to breakfast to talk about our three million dollars.

“I owe it to you, Diane,” Hugo said earnestly. “Whatever Everleigh’s interest in paying me may have been, without you being who and what you are it would never have happened. Look, sweetheart, you’re a wealthy girl now, and I’m wondering if you want your law practice or to be my prisoner?”

“I don’t see why we can’t continue as we are, with me being your prisoner one day and your prisoner the next. Remember, you’ve lost Margo. You don’t want to lose me, too.”

“Damn it, you know I don’t. But I can’t go on whipping you every other day.”

“I could probably heal swiftly enough to cope with five strokes on alternate days, Want to try?”

“Okay, it’s a deal. But, Diane, what about the rest of the time? Won’t it be a frightful bore to be handcuffed or tied to the wall?”

“Until it happens. Hugo, I really don’t know. I know what it’s like for a few hours or a day, but you and I are now talking long term. In a way, we’re planing a marriage.”

“You want me to marry you, I will?”

“No. Hugo, don’t be silly. Getting married would spoil the whole thing. Wait a while. If I get bored with the things you do to me. I’ll tell you fast enough. But it should be understood that won’t mean you have to stop. If it happens, it’s a problem I’ll have to cope with myself.”

It was delightfully intimate sitting there over breakfast. I made as much play as I could with the golden handcuffs on my wrists and knew the costly circlets were getting us both excited.

Hugo had a problem he had to voice. I had come to know him pretty well, and when Hugo had something on his mind. I could sense disquiet. I sensed it now.

“I’ve been thinking about Margo and old Andrew Everleigh.” he admitted. “I should never have allowed him to take her away, any more than I could let him grab you. I let him jump to a false conclusion.”

“But, damn it. Hugo. I’ve never seen the girl happier. Why worry about her?”

“Uncle Andrew thinks he’s got himself a delightful nymphet who will glow and twinkle and wiggle in his ropes. And he has. But I discovered something else about Margo he probably won’t like. Whenever she gets her hands and feet free, she puts up the damnedest battle to escape. It’s for real and she almost has to be beaten into submission. You and I know that’s what she wants, but Uncle Andrew doesn’t and that’s what bothers me.”

“Don’t worry, Hugo. Constance can deal with her. She dealt with me without any trouble.”

“Margo wants it done by a man. She doesn’t want a mistress, she wants a master. You know that. What’s going to happen is the two of them will be at cross purposes. I wouldn’t be the least bit surprised if he brought her back and wanted you instead. It’s you he’s always wanted.”

“Hugo, stop worrying.” I raised my hands and clinked golden bracelets. “You’ve got me and we’re going to have ourselves a wonderful time. Damn it. Hugo. I’ve made you a millionaire, so stop worrying about a girl who doesn’t know what she wants”

Hugo brightened up, got himself another cup of coffee, and then started off in another direction. “It’s damned rummy, Diane, the way you and I have started off in this business of ropes and whips and chains. Not too long ago neither of us had heard of such things. And we would have scorned them. But everything thats been happening to us has gradually made us addicts.”

“I like it. Stop worrying the same way I’ve stopped worrying. Let’s talk about buying me a pillory and a set of stocks, and when I’ll get whipped again. Real fun things!” I sparkled at my master imploringly.

We tossed worry to the wind and became a very happy couple. But Hugo had planted a seed of unease in my mind. I was scarcely conscious of it then but it was to grow and flourish. I wore the golden handcuffs all that day.

It is hot in the slave pen. During mid day I seek refuge in a tiny bit of shade afforded by one concrete wall. There is the strangest smell about the place but since I perspire almost constantly, I am wondering if it is not a relic from the days when fifty chained woman might be locked in this enclosure, and I can well imagine what the smell was like then. Like Uncle Andrew said, this whole place is a relic of ancient times.

If I had my hands I could probably climb out of this enclosure but I do not have my hands. I don’t even have those lovely golden handcuffs, but instead my hands are tight bound with some kind of rawhide strip and I’ve chaffed my wrists almost rare with my futile twisting and tuggings. But what the hell, there’s nothing else to do!

The walls of this enclosure are part concrete, part stone, and a lot of stout timbers spaced enough apart to give no chance of wiggling through. There is also a latticework of rusted iron and an iron-barred gate with a fresh, shinning new large lock. I am a prisoner for sure.

The name of my female jailer is Juanita, she is stronger than I and can handle me easily. Constance doesn’t bother much, I think she is ashamed of seeing me in this condition. There is also a grinning and amiable black man who will rivet heavy irons upon my limbs when the time comes. I am given to understand there will be a sequence of ordeals such as the one I endure now. No one will tell me what the end of it may be.

Needless to say, I am naked. It’s a blessing I have been naked as much as I have for the sun would burn to a crisp any girl who’s skin was freshly stripped of covering. The name of Uncle Andrew’s tiny island is San Jancith. There are other similar little rocks sticking out of the water, but here on this bit of rock, he owns he has all the privacy he wants. I don’t have a hope.