Drusilla

7 Teens in Trouble

“Knees straight. Head up!” Diana’s was the voice of authority.

Ginny stood to attention. Her eyes were dreamy. Drusilla’s handcuffed nudity watched from the sidelines. Ginny made her breathless—always!

“How do you plead, poppet?”

“Guilty on all counts, Mother.”

They were incredible! Drusilla knew she would never cease to marvel at the female rapport between mother and daughter. Nor at Ginny’s penchant for punishment. The child was insatiable. An eternal innocence impervious to guilt.

“You already have a tally of ten, girl.”

“Yes, Mother.”

“Doesn’t it bother you?” The query was sharp.

“Yes, Mother.”

“You don’t look it.”

“I’m standing at attention, Mother. Awaiting sentence. I’m not supposed to show emotion.”

“I stand corrected,” Diana conceded dryly. She turned to Drusilla. “I don’t think the cane gets through to her anymore.”

“Oh, Mummy, it does!”

“Quiet, nymphet! Speak when you’re spoken to.”

“Yes, Mummy.”

“Don’t be too hard on her, Di’.” Drusilla’s heart was melting for the delinquent damsel she adored.

Diana chuckled. “The little fox has got you under her spell. You have to watch her. She’s a witch.”

“Oh, M-o-t-h-e-r-r-r!”

“Two extra for interrupting.”

“Thank you, Mumsie.”

It was a picture to touch the heart. Sneakers, shorts and a close fitting shirt through which the nipples showed erect. The bare thighs and legs proclaimed a potent youthfulness as they tapered their length below the svelte hips.

“You’re not wearing a bra, Ginny.”

“No, Mother.”

“Well, why aren’t you?”

“Because it feels all lovely when my nips rub—and people turn and look.”

“That’s enough!”

“Well, Mummy, you did ask!”

Diana turned to her watching slave. She made a motion of mock helplessness. “You see what I mean?”

“But she’s so sweet—”

“Drew, stop it! You, too! If you can’t get yourself out from under the little witch’s spell, I’ll cane your can too, just to bring you back to your senses.”

“Don’t get into trouble over me, Drew. Mummy knows best.”

“Good thing you made that amendment, Ginny,” Diana grumbled. “I was just about to raise the ante. You just can’t keep quiet.”

“I do try, Mummy.”

“If you hadn’t told us we’d never have known.” Diana’s remark was heavy with sarcasm. “What am I to do with you?”

“Cane my bottom, Mummy?”

“I’ve done that so often you’ve got so you don’t notice. ”

“Oh, M-o-t-h-e-r-r-r! I notice terribly.”

“Oh, yeah! I’ve got to think of something.”

“You’ve got a lovely whip, Mummy. You could whip my back. I’ve never had that. I expect it hurts something awful.”

“Good try, kid. But your back’s so lovely I hate to mark it.”

“Isn’t my bottom lovely, Mumsie?”

“Your bottom is indestructible, darling. I’m not sure about your back.”

“I don’t mind you trying on my back, Mummy. Honest!”

“Isn’t there something you do mind?”

“I expect there is, Mummy. But you get so angry when -”

“When what?”

“Nothing.”

The teenager stood before the desk, chin up, breasts outthrust. Her eyes were still mistily intent upon the wall. Her discipline was perfect. Diana eyed her daughter shrewdly. “How do you feel about Drew watching you punished?”

“It’s lovely, Mummy. Makes me feel all—”

“All right, all right! Suppose it was a stranger—or some one you don’t like—or someone who might laugh? Remember you’d be naked.”

The youthful figure tensed. “Oh, Mummy... !”

“Not so good, eh?”

Silence.

“I was thinking of Petty Prentiss.”

“Mummy, she’s my best friend!” It was a wail of anguish.

“Is that bad?”

“Of course it is! Seeing me all naked and—and—”

“She goes swimming with you.”

“Oh, Mummy, you know it’s not that. It’s a different naked. I’d feel awful—and Petty would laugh.”

“Your best friend laughing at you being beaten!”

“Oh, M-o-t-h-e-r-r-r!” For a moment Ginny’s shoulders twisted in frustration. “You’re putting it all wrong. I think you’re laughing at me.”

“No, I’m not. I think I’d like Petty to come over. What have you got against her?”

“Oh, Mummy! It’s not Petty, it’s the humiliation.”

“Ah, now we’re getting somewhere! Do you agree, dear, having Petty watch would make your punishment a little less—enjoyable?”

Ginny pouted, but did not reply. “Answer me!”

“Yes.” Ginny managed to make the single word sound as though the bottom had fallen out of her world.

“Excellent! You may phone Petty, dear, and ask her over.”

“Mummy, I don’t want to. Oh, please?”

“Do it, Ginny.”

“Mumsie, can I have extra? Something really terrible instead?”

“No, dear. We’ve gone into this often before. I refuse to flay your back or bottom just because of a notion.”

“Is that it, Mummy?”

“That’s it, dear. You’ve been sentenced. You needn’t stand to attention anymore.”

“Thanks, Mummy—I’m sorry.”

“That’s all right, Ginny. I’ll just allot you a couple more for all those quibblings. What’s your total?”

“Fourteen strokes, Mother.”

“That’s my girl! You can now phone Petty.”

“Thank you, Mother.”

Ginny picked up the phone as though it were a venomous reptile.

Drusilla knew herself privileged. Private winks had passed from her mistress to herself as Ginny’s small drama unrolled. No doubt there were those who would pay vast sums to witness what was about to take place. The Room had become a stage.

“I want you to kneel to one side, Drew. You may sit back on your heels and rest your hands on your thighs so we can all see your handcuffs.”

Drusilla obeyed, blushing under Petty’s startled scrutiny.

But at least she had been told her place. She would not be flitting from here to there. She placed her palms upon her thighs so as to stretched the handcuffs’ single link as far as it would permit.

“I don’t want you to feel awkward about this, Petty dear,” Diana said kindly. “I think you know, don’t you, we’re a bit unconventional?”

“Oh, yes, Mrs. Winslow. It’s kind of you to want me to come.”

“You must forgive Ginny if she’s embarrassed by your presence. But that’s part of her punishment, dear. Do you get caned at home?”

“Gosh, no, Mrs. Winslow.”

“What a pity! It’s so good for girls your age.” Diana made it sound as though their guest was undernourished.

“I expect it is, Mrs. Winslow. But we just—I’ve never—I say, Mrs. Winslow, where’s Ginny?”

“Ginny will join us shortly, dear. We like to carry off these little affairs with a touch of ritual. It’s wonderful for building character.”

“Ginny’s awfully lucky,” Petty ventured doubtfully. “I do love her so.”

“We all love her, dear. That’s why I’m very strict with her punishments. Has she told you?”

“Well, some—”

Petty was out of her depth. Drusilla longed to laugh at the poor child’s puzzlement. For herself, she wanted only to be as unobtrusive as possible... ! What must the girl be thinking of a naked woman, handcuffed! Diana was having herself a field day.

Ginny made an entry.

Drusilla could not be sure, but she shrewdly guessed the youngster had assessed her predicament and decided to milk it of as many titillations as it might provide. Ginny’s native exuberance was under control, but her eyes were shining. Her dress was unchanged but her hair had been groomed as had her features. For one brief moment she and Petty locked eyes. Then the delinquent daughter strode into the Room and stood before her mother.

“I ask permission to be punished.”

“Of course, dear.”

“I am to receive fourteen strokes on my bare bottom from the cane.”

“That is correct.”

“I ask permission to prepare myself.”

“You have it, dear.”

It was beautifully done. There could be no doubt Ginny was enjoying herself, pushing Petty and the cane into the back of her mind. With graceful forethought she began to strip. She wore almost nothing, but she made the most of what she had.

“There is no need to perform a strip tease, Ginny.”

“No, Mother, sorry.”

Nude, she stood before her parent. Diana examined her exposed daughter with pride.

“I ask permission to be fastened, please.”

“Yes, dear. I think standing.”

Diana was being kind. Drusilla shared Ginny’s sigh of relief. To be bound upon some contraption with your legs apart was an indignity no girl would relish in front of her best friend. With a perfect presence the girl about to be caned positioned herself beneath the bar and raised her hands.

“I’ll bring it down, dear. No need to strain.”

“Thank you, Mother.”

The trapeze halted its downward course at the level of Ginny’s breasts. Without prompting, she pushed her hands through the loops and held them passively while her mother buckled the straps tight. Then the motor sang its song and the bare arms rose until their owner’s heels left the floor.

“If you’re well up it will save you floundering, dear.”

“Yes, Mother:”

“Isn’t she beautifully behaved, Petty?”

“Gosh, yes!” Petty’s stock of exclamations was limited.

But her eyes were eloquent. They were alight with vivid interest.

“I’m so proud of her. Are you ready to be caned, darling?”

“Yes, Mother.”

Drusilla feared an orgasm. What she was seeing and hearing was just too much. She wondered anxiously if, in her kneeling pose, she could absorb the tremors and tumults of a come without betraying herself. With an observant Petty! She closed her eyes and fought back the rising tide.

She had witnessed Ginny being caned before. How long ago that seemed! How much had happened! Wryly, the handcuffed woman tried to compute the stripes she herself had felt planted on her skin since that first day. Her arithmetic was interrupted by the whirring of the cane and a solid smack.

The response of girls beneath the whip must inevitably vary. Yet, basically, they are the same. Stoicism fights surrender. Panic pleads. The wealed flesh is provoked to writhings. The clenched teeth part so that the lips may wail. Drusilla watched breathlessly as the crimson bars sprung into life on youthful curves. From time to time she spared a glance at Petty. The teenager was transfixed by awe, an enraptured vision of wonder, of the incredible, of something new and spine-curlingly exciting. Something that would surely lead to a hundred maiden whisperings.

“Halfway, dears,” said Diana brightly.

Ginny was engrossed with her scalding bottom. In unconscious grace she was rubbing one cheek against a raised arm and doing her favorite exercise against pain by bending and flexing her leg at the knee. She looked at no one. She was alone with the cane.

“The darling behaves awfully well, don’t you think!”

“She s beautiful!” Drusilla poured sincerity into the obvious.

“Oh, Mrs. Winslow... !” Petty evidently felt called upon for polite comment. “Doesn’t it hurt her terribly?”

“Why not ask her, dear!”

Petty giggled prettily. She would hold no illusions about her girl friend’s state of mind. “I’m real sorry—” she began tentatively.

Ginny did not turn. Her voice was crisp. “Don’t be. I do this for fun.”

The words held a bitterness of which Ginny was rarely guilty. Drusilla realized that Diana had indeed discovered something to which her effervescent daughter was allergic.

Petty filled the awkward silence with another try: “I expect it hurts something awful...?”

“I love every stroke!”

“She’s a little upset, dear,” Diana soothed sweetly. “But she shouldn’t be rude. What do you think, Petty? Does she deserve an extra stroke? She wasn’t very grateful for your concern.”

Drusilla swallowed a giggle. Petty was looking as embarrassed as a girl could be. “Oh, no, Mrs. Winslow! Poor Ginny—! Not on my account.”

“I am not a ‘poor Ginny.’” The voice of the punished nudity was remote and icy. For the moment the tied girl was in complete control. “And, yes, Mother, I would enjoy an extra stroke. Please give it to me.”

It was youthful bravado. But it was magnificent. Petty was crushed. Diana was vastly entertained. Drusilla was thankful it was not her bottom on which the next eight strokes would fall.

They fell hard. Diana felt challenged. Petty must be impressed. Ginny must be chastened. The trapeze bar creaked under the stress of anguish. The straps bit snugly against protesting wrists. Both knees worked overtime. But the only sounds to emerge from determined lips were small moans, the gaspings of shocked breath, and tiny inarticulate cries bitten off at their source.

“That’s a beautiful bottom. I’m proud of it,” Diana proclaimed after the final slash had seared her daughter’s skin.

“Thank you, Mother.”

Drusilla wondered how much of Ginny’s panting composure was for the benefit of the wide-eyed visitor. Her heart bled for the strapped maiden. She, too, had once known the cruelties of pride.

Diana was determined to extract her pound of flesh.

“Would anyone care to come and look?” she enquired innocently.

The moment was unkind to all. Any response was wrong.

But the woman with the cane was a force. From the depth of young chagrin, Ginny piled on a caustic quip. “Do please come and look at my bottom. I’m sure it’s worth a glance. Why not feel it too! I expect it’s all ridged.”

Petty was aware of a need to repair damaged fences.

“Oh, Ginny, no! We don’t want to do that. I’m so sorry.”

“You enjoyed every minute.” There were tears in the youthful accusation.

“I didn’t! I didn’t!”

“That’s enough of that!” Diana exclaimed crisply. “I’m going to let her down now. Petty, perhaps you’d be kind enough to unbuckle her straps?”

“Oh, yes, Mrs. Winslow.”

The eagerness of the girlish voice faded as Petty glimpsed the trap. Ginny was not going to be grateful.

Drusilla noted the awareness, the hesitancies, the tension. Here was the final shame—that Petty should handle the straps by which she was bound!

Petty fumbled. She dared not raise her eyes to be accused. She tugged awkwardly.

“Thank you.” The pained politeness was grudgingly vouchsafed as the speaker massaged red wrists.

Diana chose the moment to acerbate the atmosphere with sarcasm. “You seem a bit put out with your friend, Ginny? Perhaps you’d like to cane her bottom to even things up?”

“M-o-t-h-e-r-r!!!”

“You can if you want to, Ginny. I want to stay friends.” The unpredictability of girls! Diana and her handcuffed slave both gasped, but Ginny rose, haughtily, to the occasion.

“It’s Mummy who wants to cane you, Petty. Ask her.” Except for the wounded girl’s fingering of her caned bottom, there was silence and immobility. Petty was overwhelmed by enormity. Diana broke the impasse.

“I really do enjoy it,” she agreed shamelessly.

Petty squirmed and sought advice. “What should I do, Mrs. Winslow? Ginny’s mad at me.”

“Well, it would be a nice gesture, dear.”

“You mean—?”

“Generous and forgiving—?”

“Like Ginny was! Ooooo-o-o-o—I’d howl.”

“We wouldn’t mind.” Ginny’s voice was still frosty. Petty looked her girlfriend squarely in the eye. “Ginny, if I say yes, will you get over being mad at me?”

Moments of confrontation melted before Ginny’s sob and a whirl of arms as the naked girl embraced the one still dressed. “I’m a pig,” Ginny confessed vehemently. “A rotten, unkind pig.”

Two women watched two girls. It was a very private moment. Drusilla absorbed the cloying sweetness of ultrafemaleness, the scents and vibrations of which filled the Room with sensual potency. Her orgasm hovered.

“Mrs. Winslow?” The teen embraces had worn themselves out. Petty looked at Diana appealingly. “Could I have just one? To sort of make things right—?”

“She really wants it, Mumsie.”

“Why, of course, dear. How very sweet!”

“But could I keep my clothes on, please? You can just uncover my—my—”

“How very sensible. Would you like Ginny to do the whole thing, dear?”

Petty squirmed and sought Ginny’s eye. “I think it would be more—well—well, more proper if you did it, Mrs. Winslow.”

“I shall be glad to.”

Petty had the stage. The poor child was suddenly aware of focusing eyes. Her cue was now. She walked slowly to the place of martyrdom. “Is this—where I stand?”

Drusilla allowed her orgasm to flower. It did not matter. The others’ eyes were fixed in fascination on the tiny tragi-comedy of Petty’s preparation. While Drusilla buried her shamed face in her handcuffed hands, Petty’s wrists were thoughtfully strapped and her arms elevated to a lesser tension than Ginny’s.

“You do agree it’s best to be fastened, dear?”

“Oh, yes, Mrs. Winslow. I’d only be—silly.”

“Such a sensible girl! Ah, yes, and now the shorts! I’m afraid they’ll have to come off.”

“Of course, Mrs. Winslow.”

The teenager stepped out of her principal protection. Her panties were of chaste white cotton.

“And these, too.”

“I don’t mind, Mrs. Winslow.” Petty visibly gulped. There were no indiscreet exclamations about what was revealed. Petty’s bottom was small and impudent, her pubic hair a dark small triangle. Both peeped from under a soiled tee-shirt as though surprised.

“One quite hard stroke, dear?”

“Whatever you think best, Mrs. Winslow.”

“Mummy will give you more if you ask,” Ginny volunteered.

The cane swished its fateful arc. The small, curved derriere flinched forward under the impact. Petty made a choked repression of sound, her eyes widened.

“There!” Diana exclaimed briskly. “Is honor satisfied?”

“Yes—oh, yes! Oh, dear—oh, wow!”

It was probably Petty’s first confrontation with the monster, pain.

“You might as well try another while you’re at it,” Ginny insinuated mischievously.

“That’s as Petty wishes, dear,” Diana said primly.

“You can stand another, can’t you, Pet?” Ginny was obviously beginning to feel better.

“Ooooo-o-o-o-o, I’d rather not. Gosh! Oh jeepers!” With studied nonchalance, Ginny cupped the young, exposed pussy with an experienced palm. She nodded at what she found. “She is enjoying it, Mummy.”

“G-i-n-n-y-y!!!” The exclamation was heavy with reproach. Petty eyed her friend askance.

“It’s all right, dear,” Diana reassured her punished guest.

“Ginny is being silly. I am sure we have a cure.”

The silence was pregnant. “Hold out your hand, Ginny.”

“M-O-t-h-e-r-r-r!!!”

“Do as I say.”

“But, Mummy, what have I done?”

“You know perfectly well. Hold your hand out.”

Ginny stood, a picture of naked dismay. In instinctive defense her splayed fingers sought and clasped her striped bottom.

“Oh, Mummy, don’t cane my hands! Not my hands—I can’t hold a pencil—or anything—after.”

“The infliction will not be severe, dear. If you behave.”

“How many?”

“Ginny! That was impertinence. You do not bargain.”

“I was only asking. I’m sorry, Mother. Must it—must it be my hands?”

“Yes, it must! Hold one of them out—and stand where Petty can see. Your sentence is two, one on each hand,” Diana glowered maternally. “Or do you want to be silly and go for four?”

Ginny swallowed hard. Burning with shame, she took the required position and held out a bare arm. The cane cut at her palm. The operation was repeated. She stood in naked misery hugging her hands. When she took guilty steps she was sent back by Diana’s order: “Stand where Petty can see you perform those absurd contortions.”

The hurt eyes flashed. The slender nudity tensed erect.

The punished hands were withdrawn from wet armpits and casually offered for the scrutiny of the girl with strapped wrists. “There they are, Petty. They’re hurting quite a lot, in case you’re curious.”

It was beautifully done. Drusilla longed to exclaim “Bravo!” Ginny was infinitely precious—to be adored.

“I think you’re super, Ginny.” Petty was reverent.

“I think you should let your friend down, dear. I expect it’s time she went home. Thank you, Petty dear. I’m so glad you came.” Diana beamed maternally at all.