F Campbell - Golden Wrists

“You were going to whip me.”

“Yes, of course! Looking forward to it?”

“No. Oh, Valerie, must you!”

“I’m afraid I must, dear. A woman in my position absolutely must keep her word. If I let you out of that whipping, you’d think I was a softy.”

“No, I wouldn’t. Mistress ... Please?”

“Darling, I’ve planned a real flogging for you but you’ve had a rough night so I’ll leave your pretty back alone and concentrate on somewhere else. Ever hear of the bastinado?”

My stomach did flip flops. The handcuffs suddenly bit hard. “It’s where they whip the soles of a girl’s feet, isn’t it?” “That’s right, dear, nice change, don’t you think?”

I was broken. Without a word I sank to my knees, placed my handcuffed hand in my mistress’ lap and buried my face there, too, in a silence plea most graphically sincere. The fingers of my mistress played in my hair for minutes before she said, “I won’t let you off, Diane. Come alone and let’s get it over with.”

I stood in abject misery as my handcuffs were changed from front to back. Valerie eased me down to a blanket on the floor and placed me on my stomach, suitable for the punishment of my feet. It was wonderfully simple as she bent my leg upward at the knee and bound my ankle tight to the horizontal bar of a small metal frame. There was also a bar just above the floor at the level of the back of my knees. Ropes were also lashed around that bar and my legs. When finished. I could not move my legs at all. I could wiggle my feet but was sure that would do no good in any efforts to avoid the whip. The soles of my feet were pointed towards the ceiling and very vulnerable. They were about a foot apart and certainly ready for punishment.

I looked over a bare shoulder at the preparations for my punishment and my stomach twisted into knots. When Valerie said, “I’ll leave you a while, Diane, to think about what’s going to happen. Silly to get it over too quickly.”

I think waiting for something awful to happen must be one of the reasons people take to drink. Had I possessed hands and a bottle. I would have drunk it all. I’d read about the bastinado and while Valerie hadn’t told me the instrument she would use, I could already feel the frightful impacts on the tender soles of my feet.

Mine was a terrible posture in which to have to wait. Handcuffs give a girl enough freedom to tantalize and keep her struggling. I could scarcely believe how shockingly solid my legs were bound to that frame. I simply could not move them at all and figured that the metal frame must be somehow bolted to the floor. I wondered if Valerie would have been kinder to flog my back. I simply did not know!

It was a thin, yellow cane Valerie was flexing when she returned. She explained how desirable it was to employ a flexible instrument rather than something rigid which might break something in the foot. She explained helpfully that a whip was not suited for the punishment she would now inflict. I did not speak but pleaded with my eyes.

It was worse than I’d ever dreamed. The very first blow sent me into spasms and contortions against my bonds in a manner sure to please. My sounds of protest were little more than screams.

“Yes, dear, I know exactly how you feel,” Valerie Latimer said sweetly, “It’s a marvelous punishment, isn’t it? Quite a unique kind of pain, right?”

I could not move my feet not even a single inch, This awareness dominated my mind in the turmoil of emotions filling me. The bastinado was a new, fresh kind of anguish against which every part of my rebelled. It was the worst pain I had ever felt in my life.

I could not keep still, I just couldn’t! I floundered like a gaffed fish, even raising my breasts from the blanket so I could turn imploring eyes in a fascinated need to witness the punishment take place, I screamed outrageously.

After what Valerie said was the tenth, she paused. “I think it would be kinder to us both if you were gagged, dear,” she said as if bestowing a gift. “Wait right here. I’ll get one. Of course, so much noise is to be expected, isn’t it?”

Never the same gag twice. The one I got now was a steel bit capturing my tongue and brutally sealing my lips as the buckle tightened behind my neck. Steel and leather bit my cheeks against which I could make only the smallest sounds.

“You’re doing wonderfully, darling,” I was told as the cane resumed the beating of my soles. I yearned for unconsciousness that would not come.

All things end. When the bastinado ceased, I lay there on the blanket, panting and moaning and still not even twisting against the handcuffs. I knew myself sweating like a horse. It was quite a while before I realized I was alone.

If there was anything good about the caning of my feet, it was the knowledge it was past. Laying uncomfortably on the rug. I reveled in the thought of a terrible punishment now past. My feet burned and throbbed in an outrage of pain, but when I looked back I could not see any damage. I flopped back down and waited for what came next.

“I’m so proud of you, darling, such a heroic girl!” Valerie’s soothing voice hummed with pleasure over whatever sort of picture I made. My hair was tumbled all-over the place and my body wet with sweat. I did not care.

I had to learn to walk, or should I say adjust to the agony of planting my feet on the rug. Valerie helped as she led me to the bath. The soaping and soothing massage of her hands was a delightful contrast to the burning ache of my feet. That she spent most of the bath time with her hands on my pussy and breasts was something I did not mind, either.

“I’m going to take you out again to dine,” she told me as she toweled my body. My hands were still cuffed behind my back and unable to do the job. “Would you like that, darling?”

“But I can’t walk! You know I can’t!”

“Yes you can. That’s part of your punishment. Don’t get any ideas I’m treating you as a invalid just because I’ve whipped your feet. Tell me you’d love to go.”

“I’d love to go. Valerie.”

“Do I have to keep reminding you, or will it take a punishment?”

“Mistress.” I hurried out.

“I’ll get you dry and dressed suitable for public view. In the proper dress, you’re a beauty. And no, I won’t unlock your handcuffs. You can wear them until we leave. I’m in the mood to make you wear them in front and give you a scarf to wear in emergencies. I’ve done it before.”

Valerie would not let me sit down, but insisted I use my feet to prevent them getting set and their wounds loosing flexibility. I hadn’t anything to say about it because she keep the cane close by. If I gave her half an excuse, she’d cane my bottom once more, and perhaps my top! I was meek, I had no courage left.

If my feet had belonged to someone else, I would have enjoyed the selection of clothes. I stood passively with my hands behind my back while being dressed and having make up applied, and my hair done beautifully. When the garment required my hands be parted. I stood submissively while one wrist was freed then reattached. At that moment I was willing to believe every maiden’s malaise could be cured by the cane. I hadn’t a care in the world, I was owned.

It’s stupid but I have to admit to diminishing concern about my wounded feet as I gazed into the mirror to behold the magic Valerie had performed on me. The full length glass revealed not only a face of which I was proud but a slim figure who’s contours were such to make me fear public attention to chained hands I might fail to hide.

“You’re getting excited, dear, I can tell,” said Valerie. “I’m going to give you the best dinner you’ve ever had. You’ve earned it. You’re gorgeous!”