Drusilla

6 Her Mistress

“Keep your handcuffs above the table, Drew.”

“Yes, Mistress. May I pour the coffee now?”

“Do you realize this is our fifth breakfast like this? Ginny’s off to school. Just the two of us. I don’t believe you even know you’re handcuffed. You’ve worn ’em day and night the whole time, back or front.”

It was true. Drusilla glowed. She floated within the heated confines of a female fantasy, utterly absorbed, totally possessed. She had never been so happy. She bit at toast and twinkled at her mistress. “You love my handcuffs more than you love me,” she accused.

“Your handcuffs are you.” Diana made a deprecatory gesture. “Sight of ’em makes me as horny still as on the day you phoned.”

“Are you always going to keep me naked?”

“You’re not naked. You’re wearing handcuffs and collar. I’m going to think up a few other things... ” she grinned. “That collar keeps you as horny as the cuffs make me.”

“What about handcuffs for Ginny? Same effect?” Drusilla was curious.

“Yes. Shocking, I suppose,” Diana chuckled. “Isn’t she gorgeous?”

“I adore her. I just can’t help it.”

“We’ll have to watch the little darling,” Diana admitted.

“She could easily steal you from me and me from you.”

“No, she won’t,” Drusilla said with certainty. “Ginny’s something special all by herself. She’s us when we were her age: only more so. You’re awfully rough on her, y’know.”

“She loves it,” the proud mother said complaisantly. “I gave the poor kid a shocking time before you and I got properly started. It was the handcuffs... ! I just couldn’t help myself. I locked ’em on her for every excuse I could find. Sometimes I didn’t even bother with an excuse. If she hadn’t had a love affair with them herself I’d feel guilty as hell. ”

“Why haven’t you caned our bottoms yet, Mistress? Ginny said you never forget.”

Diana chuckled. “You’ve fallen into the neatest habit of calling me all sorts of things when we’re just talking. But once your slavery is the topic you revert to addressing me as Mistress—I love it.”

“I won’t get punished for the other times?”

“I should, but I won’t. I love that, too. As for caning your saucy seat, I’ve been waiting for you to give me an excuse for adding to the tally. Seven’s not all that severe.”

“Just me being me’s an excuse, Mistress.”

“I know it is, you little fox. You’re becoming so sweetly demure my panties are always sopping. But I do like to have a worthwhile excuse with Ginny. Kills two birds with one stone.”

“But, Mistress, isn’t ten going to hurt her enough—the way you lay ’em on?”

“Mmmmmm, it depends... ! Fact is, our little sweetheart’s derriere is getting just a trifle inured. I’m not sure ten’s going to make her cry. I’ve always made each caning an event. Something for her to carry around a few days.”

“Does she always have to cry?”

“Oh, of course! It’s a sort of a seal of approval. Ten used to make her cry buckets. But lately—”

“Do you want me to cry too, darling?”

“Yes,” Diana mused quietly. “I think tears sort of belong. A girl becomes so feminine when she weeps, especially if it’s because she’s been punished and her bottom hurts... Am I a bitch?”

“Oh, darling, don’t say such a thing! You used to wish Hinton would beat you. That time I was whipped you were envious of my marks.”

Diana made a gesture of bafflement. “So what does that make me?”

“Right now, you’re my mistress,” Drusilla said with certainty. “You’re a stronger character, and you’re stronger than I am physically. If I tried to escape, you could get the best of me. Don’t let’s analyze each other.”

Diana’s face lit up. “Want to try and escape, Drew?” Drusilla lifted her handcuffs. “In these?”

“I’ll take ’em off. It would be a colossal turn on. I’d love to drag you, squealing, back to your punishment.”

“No. You’d have to make me do that, and then it would be contrived—no sale.” Drusilla gulped coffee hastily. “But, Mistress, could we get my caning over, please?”

“Drew dear, you that horny?”

“Is that what made me ask?”

“Or else the suspense is getting to you.”

“I don’t think it’s that. It’s our talking—like this. It’s so—so—it’s put me in the mood.”

“My, my! Our little slave girl is feeling her oats!”

“If seven isn’t enough, Mistress... ?”

Diana laughed gleefully. “Oh, don’t worry, pet. As of now you’re up to fourteen.”

“Thank you, Mistress.”

“You’re a simpering little fox. I should make it twenty-one.”

“Thank you, Mistress.”

“You actually want it, don’t you?”

“Yes, Mistress. I’m sorry I’m so silly. I’m sure I’ll cry.”

“I’ll make quite certain of it,” Diana said grimly.

“You’re simply seething with sex. A few tears and a warm seat will get you back on track.”

“Thank you, Mistress.”

“If you say that again in that sweet, innocent, demure, little-girl tone of voice I’ll take my clothes off and hand you the cane,” Diana threatened. “You’re a menace like that. You’d melt any female. Even Ginny doesn’t have that particular potency.”

“I expect it’s because I’m bad.”

“Stop it!”

“I’m a naughty girl.”

“Drusilla!!!”

They burst into laughter. A girl-girl sharing of joy. “Am I really that good at being—well—whatever it is?” Drusilla asked ingenuously.

“Between you and Ginny I shall die of orgasms,” Diana affirmed ardently. “It will be a lovely death. But first—let your bottom beware!”

“After breakfast, darling?”

“After breakfast, saucy slave.”

It was not quite as she had expected. But then, it was not supposed to be! Drusilla understood Diana’s need to keep her always off balance. Once things started to be taken for granted... ! That would never do. But still... !

It was not an enjoyable tie. It was an infuriating pose to be compelled to hold. The fact that it protruded her behind most conveniently seemed coincidental. She mourned the loss of her beloved handcuffs but was thankful they did not join her wrists at this moment. Instead, her wrists were crossed behind her back and bound fast by quite a few strands of soft white rope. The rope was tight. Not that its bite mattered. What did matter was that her hands had been raised high behind her back by some sort of pulley that was no more visible than a whirr in the ceiling.

“All conveniences, Drew darling.”

“Oh, Mistress, I’m almost on my toes.”

“Lovely, isn’t it! Just a single rope from the winch.”

It was not lovely at all. But its authority upon her bent nudity was total. Drusilla had a good view of the floor, her bound ankles, her corded knees, and her pubic hair. If she wanted to see anything else she had to strain awkwardly and painfully.

Drusilla had protested the binding of her feet. But an amused Diana had been adamant. “If you can kick and cavort you’ll just struggle that much more and bother your poor shoulders more than you need. So shut up, darling, and think about the lovely cane and your dear little bottom.”

Under the compulsion of the cords, much of Drusilla’s erotic titillation over the cane had evaporated. She felt very bare and very bent and very vulnerable. The final indignity had come when something had been forcibly thrust into her unsuspecting mouth. It was there now: a metal ring held behind her teeth by a strap across her cheeks and buckled firmly at the back of her neck above her collar.

“Silence and immobility, darling,” Diana had cooed wickedly. “Perfect conditioning for a slave girl.”

Drusilla silently agreed. She was quite prepared to be, say, do, or promise anything so that her arms might be released and she return to normal. She would have been very vocal about this obedience had the gag not silenced her protestations. No doubt that was why it was put in her mouth. Diana did not want to hear. If this was conditioning, she would be well conditioned indeed.

It was her saddest plight yet. Wryly, the naked captive supposed it a promotion. Diana was not playing kid’s games and she was not a kid. She was being taught what she was. If the tuition was painful, that was her hard luck. Drusilla gazed down despondently as another drop of wet joined others on the floor. The ring strapped in her mouth promoted salivation but robbed her of control. Her saliva slipped past her lips at will. Her efforts to swallow it back were ineffectual. After Diana had left her alone she had explored the possibilities of speech. But the sounds that escaped through the ring were too demeaning. She soon desisted.

Knowledge of time was not for her. Drusilla sadly guessed her estimates colored by longing. But she was sure she had stood thus for a long time. Diana was making her wait and think. Maybe when the cane actually began to stripe her skin she would be grateful. Her wracked shoulders howled their plea for release.

She was completely helpless. The elevation of her bound hands defeated normal wrigglings. She would have to stand, her head and shoulders bent well forward, until such time as her mistress chose to end her travail. In a forlorn attempt to speed the passage of time, the mute captive had striven to have her first good look at the New Room. To do so she had to fight the tether to her hands, straining them up almost to her neck so as to raise her head enough to look around at the goodies on which Diana had spent so much of their money. What she saw was not reassuring. The circumstances for viewing were all wrong. listlessly she relapsed and resumed her staring at her feet. Her only comfort was that her breasts did not hang. This was a test to which they were responding with magnificent firmness.

“I’d imagine it’s quite an experience, darling?”

“Nnning!”

“Sorry, I forgot you were suffering in silence. Is this little ensemble very bad?”

“Nrrrrrgh!”

“All right, I’m a meanie. I’ll take it out. I really shouldn’t. I’m sure it’s doing you no end of good. But it spoils your loveliness. Besides, I want someone to talk to.”

“Oh, darling... ! Oh, Mistress!” The still-helpless captive was overwhelmed with gratitude and relief.

“Pretty bad, eh?”

“It’s awful. You’ve no idea. Oh—ohhhhh!”

Fingers were forcing a passage between her constrained thighs. Drusilla gasped at the firm contact and was sorry when it was withdrawn.

“You’re O.K., sweetheart. Plenty of moisture.”

Drusilla longed for release but was sure she should not ask. Suddenly, a long, slender streak of yellow was held within her range of vision. “I won’t make you kiss it, Drew. I want to avoid cliches in what we do together.”

“I want to kiss it. Oh, Mistress, let me?”

“You funny little fox! Why?”

“I don’t know. I just want to. It’s something from you to me, isn’t it? I guess that’s why.”

The rod was raised to her straining lips. Drusilla kissed it again and again. “I’m kissing you,” she said huskily. “Couldn’t you guess?”

“Drew, what’s come over you? I could almost believe you were about fifteen.”

“It’s Ginny,” Drusilla surmised. “I told you, she’s infectious.”

“Hmmmmm, yes maybe. But there’s something else... ”

“Well, then, it’s you and me. You own me now. I’ve become Ginny’s twin. I do what you tell me. Oh, gollies, Mistress dear, this is awful tough on my shoulders!”

“Good!” Diana’s fingers tested the moist armpits so cruelly exposed beneath the wrenched shoulders. “I think I’ll let your hair grow in your armpits, darling. Quite a novelty in this day and age.”

“Oh, Mistress!”

“That sounds like Ginny. When you get a good bush under both arms, I’ll shave your pubic hair. The effect should be gorgeous.”

“Diana, please!!!”

The exclamation was lost under the snicker of the cane and its thunk upon the unsuspecting cheeks. Drusilla yelped in shock.

“Good thing for you I’m not a man, Drew. If I were, I’d have to take you right here and now the way you are. The scarlet line that’s forming on your seat is lighting a fire in me I can barely stand.”

Drusilla contented herself with a whimper. The pain was intense. She was very thankful Diana was not a man. For the next several blows she was able to control herself against a mounting agony. When Diana paused, the whipped girl moaned: “Oh, please... ! Go easy. Oh—oh—oh... ! Oh, Mistress, couldn’t you untie my feet?”

“What on earth for?”

“I think it would help. I’m so—so—so lumpy and helpless. And I’m trying so hard not to scream.”

“I want you to scream, darling. I don’t mind. And, no, I won’t untie your feet. You’d kick and lunge. This way you have to stand still and all the action’s in your darling bottom. You should see it weave! I wouldn’t miss what you’re doing with it for the world.”

“It’s doing it itself,” Drusilla mourned. “I didn’t even know it was doing anything—except hurt.”

Diana resumed the flagellation of her beloved. When, after several impacts, Drusilla emitted a tentative scream, she paused again. “You haven’t started to cry yet, darling.” There was real disappointment in her reproach.

“It’s because I’m trying too hard,” her victim gasped. “I want to but it won’t work. Or maybe it’s because I hurt so bad.”

“Sorry you’re my slave?”

“No!” The negative was vehement.

“Want to be untied?”

“No!”

“You’re a darling, and quite incredible. But it won’t save you a single stroke.”

“I don’t want it to—Arrrrrragh!”

Drusilla clung to her love for the woman who yielded the cane. The pain would go away. But the love would go on and on. It was so wonderful—so wonderful! She gasped and twisted her way through to the fourteenth cut. She was sure her bottom behaved outrageously, but she did not care.

“You’ve had it, poppet. Feel better?”

“I’ll tell you in a minute,” Drusilla gasped. “Oh, Di’!” The cane cut her ruthlessly.

“I’m sorry, Mistress. I forgot.”

“I had to do that, dear. I mustn’t start letting you get away with anything.”

“I know. But it’s so hard sometimes! Oh, Mistress, are you going to untie me?”

The cane savagely added a sixteenth weal to Drusilla’s scorched flesh. “You mustn’t ask. You mustn’t hint,” Diana admonished.

Drusilla burst into tears. The fortitude that had coped with the fourteen strokes crumbled. Diana stepped back and viewed what her cane had wrought, her heart torn by its beauty, her sex flaring at sight of the ridged flesh and bowed loveliness of the girl she now possessed utterly. The tears were sweet. They fell, one by one, to join the other pathetic stains upon the floor.

“There, there! You’re so beautiful. The punishment’s over.” Drusilla’s head was cradled against Diana’s middle. The familiar perfume and the scent of sex dragged the tied girl back into her new world. She nestled lovingly against Diana’s vibrant femininity.

“Poor little darling. I’ll always be beautifully mean to you.” Diana stroke the damp hair, then bent and kissed the nape of the bent neck above the locked collar. “You’ve earned a little something,” she whispered mischievously.

Drusilla allowed the thousand tingles of sensation to possess her being. She felt no need of words. She hurt, she glowed. Her spirit soared, her shoulders ached. Her wrists were afire but the ropes were falling from her ankles and knees under Diana’s urgent tugs. The world was very wonderful and wholly good. Her wealed bottom was singing its own paean of praise for benefits received.

“Now you can kick, darling. Nice feeling?”

“Mmmmmm! Ohhhhhh—!” The moans were of joy. Diana’s heart raced. Once more she retreated to behold her palpitating creation. The still helpless nakedness was stretching a tentative leg back and forth and sideways. Most intriguingly she was kicking and flexing from the knee, savoring their freedom. The rope from her bound wrists to the pulley swayed and shivered from her small essays in a limited freedom. Drusilla was helpless but happy.

“You do have to stay there, darling.”

“Mmmmmm... ” It was an ambiguous acceptance.

“Slave girls are never let loose after punishment.”

“Mmmmmm... !”

“You can bear it, can’t you, darling?”

“It doesn’t matter, does it, Mistress? I haven’t a thing to say.”

“My, you are coming along nicely, Drew.” Diana clasped the submissive head in loving hands. Raising it against the compulsions of its bondage she sought the eager lips. The two women kissed longingly and long. When she knew herself consigned once more to lonely pain, the prisoner did not complain. It was forbidden and she would obey. Drusilla’s shoulders wept but she did not. At the door, Diana paused. “I won’t leave you there all day, darling.”

“Mmmmmm... !”

“I want you rested for this evening.”

The bowed head raised in surprise. “Mistress?”

“Cocktails at seven, Drew dear. The Pendletons.” The Pendletons! Drusilla moaned. The Pendletons had money. Drusilla had always thought it silly to try and keep up with them. But Belinda Pendleton was a force and her consort, Homer, was an amiable shadow from a world of distant ‘deals’ beyond suburbia. They exuded a generous patronage to the hoi polloi. Their food and drink were always superlative.

“So nice for you two to be together.” From her middle-aged eminence, Belinda Pendleton contrived to infuse her remark with coy significance. She viewed Diana and Drusilla with a knowing eye. “I’m sure you get along splendidly.”

“We sleep together,” Diana matched innuendo with impudence.

Belinda Pendleton was un-shockable. She oozed benevolence. “And which of you is... ? Dear me, there is a word?”

“I am,” said Diana sweetly.

“I should have guessed, dear.” Their hostess cocked an assessing eye at a flushed Drusilla. “Such a lovely collar! And that padlock! I do envy you both.” She bathed them in approval and melted back among her guests.

“She’s guessed it right off,” Drusilla wailed. “Oh, Di’, I told you!”

“So what, darling!” Diana was radiant. “You’re mine! I’m showing you off.”

“But my collar! It’s so—so—and the padlock!”

“My brand on you, darling. But I love them looking. I’m the most envied woman in the room.”

“But, Diana darling, I’m scared to walk.”

“Enjoy it, silly. You’re a positive traffic stopper.”

It was true! Drusilla wanted to laugh and scream and cry. It was too wonderful and too absurd. The locking of the band about her middle was still a vivid happening. Diana had been laughing at her concern.

“I’m never going to let you out without something on you somewhere, Drew.”

“My collar’s on me. The padlock’s like waving a flag.”

“Not enough, darling. I want you wearing something from me to you. Something under your clothes that hurts.”

“Oh, Mistress, please!”

“You know you’re dying for it. Look!”

Drusilla remembered her gasp and the instant heating of her sex. The silver belt was as lovely as her collar. She feared it but desired it more than anything else in the world.

“It’s got a quite simple lock. But you’ll never get it off with your fingers. Raise your arms, dear.”

It had been instant ecstasy. She had raised her arms without thought of consequence. The chill of the metal round her waist had melted in to the clasp of love. After the click at her back she had lowered her hands and sent them questing.

“You can’t get it off.”

It had seemed terrible tight. But, in front of the mirror, Drusilla could only gasp and emit exclamations.

“Now walk.”

She had forgotten! When her hips jauntily flaunted her loins she turned, aghast. “I can’t go out like this!”

“Of course not, silly. You’ll be dressed.”

“Not that—my walk! Oh, darling!”

“I’m going to be so proud, Drew.”

Drusilla sipped and glowed in her mistress’s approval.

She understood that the party was another test. It was desirable that she be seen out and around. Desirable, too, in their own private way, that she be constrained and kept aware of her condition. The belt nagged, but it was a lovely sex-wetting nag she adored. If only her hips... ! In sauntering across the extensive floor she might as well be beating a drum.

“We mustn’t cling, darling. You’re on your own.”

The strictured slave watched her mistress mingle with the groups. Drusilla knew she could not possibly just stand. She downed her drink and headed for the bar. Her hips proclaimed her a whore. The giggle was insidious. It was Minnie Albertson.

Minnie was a thirtyish moppet who would never grow up. She clinked glasses with Drusilla and whispered throbbingly: “Belinda’s on to you.”

The embarrassed slave felt out of her element. She gulped hastily and felt a conspirator. She liked Minnie, but even the stricture round her tummy did not dissipate inhibitions. “On to what, Minnie?” she asked innocently.

Minnie’s giggle covered all contingencies. She used it again. “Poor darling, you feel so conspicuous, don’t you? But doesn’t it positively curl your spine?”

“My spine?”

“Drusilla darling, not with me! You don’t have to dissemble with poor little Minnie. I’ve been there. ’S’matter of fact, I’m there right now.”

“I’ll have another.” Drusilla pushed her glass across the bar. Minnie was sweet. But between them loomed an abyss.

“I found a few drinks real helpful at the start,” Minnie confided. “Quigley didn’t break me in easy.”

“Minnie, what are you babbling about?”

Minnie was unperturbed. “You’ve got some sort of belt locked round your tummy, Drew. I can tell.”

“It’s a corset.”

“No, it isn’t. Your breasts aren’t lifted. I bet you can’t get it off. Diana’s got the key, hasn’t she?”

“Does it matter?”

“Of course it matters. I bet your panties are sopping and you’d like to tell me about it but you’re shy.”

“All right, so you know!”

“Don’t be sulky, darling. Is Diana being mean to her little slave girl?”

“No!”

“Don’t bite my head off. Would it make you feel better to know there’s pair of plastic balls popped inside my puss and my vulva’s closed by a padlock to which I don’t have a key?”

“Minnie, don’t be ridiculous.”

“It’s true. I’ve been pierced. Quigley insisted.”

While Drusilla sought solace in her glass, a nimble hand explored her waist, probing knowingly beneath the fabric.

“Yeah, it’s there!” Minnie said in a matter-of-fact voice. “If you show me yours, I’ll show you mine.”

“Minnie!”

“Want me to ask Diana?”

“You haven’t! You’re not padlocked... ”

“I am, too! Here, I’ll stand. Be careful, but feel.” Drusilla knew herself lost. This was too good to be true.

She sent one nonchalant hand upon a mission. She gasped. It was true! Her fingers encountered the unmistakable contours of the, by no means tiny, metal cruelty between Minnie’s legs.

“For Pete’s sake don’t pull, Drew!”

The hand withdrew. Drusilla viewed her cheerful companion with respect. She refused to concede envy. “Doesn’t it hurt?”

“It used to. But I’ve got used to it. I like it better than the chastity belt Quigley bought.”

“Oh, Minnie, no!”

“Oh, Minnie, yes!” The gamin eyes twinkled. “I am a bit susceptible to men. The belt and the padlock have been a relief—saves me decisions. You should see their faces!” For a moment Minnie turned serious. “We all wondered why Bryce didn’t lock one on you.”

Drusilla refused to be drawn. She made her voice as casual as her leaping pulse would allow. “Those plastic balls... ?”

Minnie tittered. “They’re not really a punishment. On the other hand, they’re a bit hard to live with. I’m all the time amorous. If I walk around too much I have an orgasm. You’d think it would show. But Quigley says I always look like I’m about to come. I say, Drew, does Diana whip you?”

Drusilla gave up pretense. Or perhaps it was the drinks. She sparkled. “Only when I’m bad.”

“Quigley uses that excuse. You ought to see my bottom.”

“I’d love to. May I?”

“If I can see yours?”

Simple! Drusilla drained her glass.

The Pendleton powder room was magnificent and commodious. Inspired by the nectar of the bar, the giggling couple took possession of a cubicle and raised their dresses like naughty little girls.

“Oh, it’s lovely!” Minnie’s finger traced the steel round Drusilla’s waist. “And it won’t come off, will it?”

“I can’t get it off;” Drusilla admitted proudly.

Panties were lowered, then impatiently removed. Exclamations of admiration for wealed flesh accompanied an interchange on bottoms. Breathlessly Drusilla instructed:

“I’ll sit down now and you sort of spread your legs.”

It was there! Minnie’s cooperation was total. The padlock nestled deep within her sex, closing its lips. It was beautiful, implacable, exciting. Drusilla fingered it in awe.

“Every girl should have one.”

The hearty feminine voice came from above. Two pairs of startled eyes looked up at the flushed features of Belinda Pendleton peering over the partition. “I’m standing on the can next door,” she explained amiably. “Knew you were up to something.”

“Belinda’s seen my padlock before,” Minnie explained, unabashed. She dropped her dress and retrieved her panties. “What she’s snooping over is you and what’s round your tum-tum.”

“I like it!” Mrs. Pendleton said decisively. “Now just turn your bottom this way a bit, dear, so I can see.”

Only partly under the influence of alcohol, a proud Drusilla gathered her dress beneath an arm and bent over for inspection.