Golden Wrists

11 Lesbian Interlude

I hurt. I was spread tightly between two bedposts at the foot of Valerie’s bed. My captors stripped me bare and bound me thus under the direction of the woman I’d betrayed. My outstretched arms are secured by wrists alone, wrists that are tightly bound in soft bandages to let me know I’m intended to be suspended thus a long, long time. My feet are roped wide apart to leave me once again in the position of the “X” frame of bitter memory. But this is worse for my nakedness is without support other than my wrists. When Valerie goes to bed, we would be face to face.

Miss Valerie Latimer sat on the side of the bed and surveyed me with an amusement I did not share. “Silly girl!” she said quietly. “I suppose you know what to expect.”

I longed to be freed from the appalling fix but instead said quietly. “Yes. I’ll be terribly punished.”

“Well, that looks after that, you little idiot.” Her voice held hints of laughter. “If you’re curious as to why you got picked up so swiftly, it’s because I judged you by myself. In your shoes I would have run away just like you. A precaution seemed sensible. Welcome back!”

I could think of nothing worthwhile to say and kept silence.

Valerie was surveying my nakedness with every evidence of pleasure. “Hurting?”

“Horribly. My arms are being dragged from of their sockets.”

“No, they’re not. You just think they are. You’ll still be on one piece by morning.”

“If you leave me like this, I’ll be dead.”

My mistress laughs. “You overstate a bit, Diane dear. And a lovely sense of drama. May I assume you feel regret?”

“I feel a bitch, I let you down. I am guilty as hell, but please punish me some other way. I can’t endure this all night.”

“Poor darling! Everleigh tells me you have a gift for doing the wrong thing. He says you were a lousy lawyer and should be kept on a chain. I guess the old boy’s got you figured.”

At that moment I could have cared less about Uncle Andrew, all I wanted was to be untied. Helplessly, I asked, “Is this my punishment, or can I expect something worse? If there is anything worse.”

“Diane, my pet, you know perfectly well there’s something worse. Didn’t I promise you a whipping? Now it’s going to be doubly worse.”

Between guilt and pain and fear I ceased to be Diane Durrant or a lawyer of anything else other than a girl who’s spirit was utterly broken. I started to cry, and once the gates were open, my tears flowed with floods of misery. My mistress eyed me with interest until she kicked off her shoes, stood on the bed to dry my eyes and cheeks with an avid tongue as though their saltiness was good to taste. Soon her lips found mine and, in the loneliness of despair, I kissed her back as though with love.

“That’s better,” she said when we paused for breath. She patted my pussy in its blatant spread. “Want me to let you down?”

I tensed with longing, not believing what I’d heard. Urgently I surrendered, “Yes, oh yes! Valerie, I’d be so grateful!”

“I’m sure you would. But I’m still curious about obedience. Do you still have any?”

“Yes! I’ll give you the obedience I thought I owed to others.” I shook the hair out of my eyes with the only movement allowed me. “I don’t expect you to believe me, but I promise I’ll do whatever you ask.”

Valerie laughed and patted my cheek lovingly before stepping off the bed. I was tense and anxious with hope. But instead of reaching for my bonds, she started to undress. When she was as naked as I, she posed prettily to ask, “Like me?”

“Of course I like you, you’re beautiful. You’ve got a wonderful body. Please untie me.”

“It’s bed time, dear, no special occasions. By the way. I’ll be naked when I whip you, it gives me so much freedom.”

I watched as she turned off all light save the bedside lamp. She lay upon the covers and stretched erotically for my view. Her fingers played lightly along her body. At another time I might have been enthralled, but now was too engrossed with my pain to really pay attention. With a sob of despair, I allowed my head to bow forward. In bitter disappointment I blinked back another flood of tears.

Valerie was enjoying me. I wasn’t paying too much attention to anything but hurting but I could feel the intensity of her eyes as they traveled up and down my nakedness, and sometimes lingering upon my corded wrists and ankles. As though I were sharing her bed, she talked entertainingly of this and that, asked questions about Hugo, and described Uncle Andrew affectionately as a wicked old so and so. I tried to keep up my end of the conversation but mostly came out with little gasps and moan, interspersed with pleas to be freed. After a while, Valerie got tired of my absorption with my own punishment, turned off the light and went to sleep.

I was the loneliest girl in the world. I was terrified at the prospect of hanging where I was during the hours until dawn. The turning out of the light and sounds of Valerie making herself comfortable for sleep dissolved any courage I had. Recklessly I blurted out, “Don’t leave me like this! Valerie, you can’t! I’m begging you ... Please!”

I should have known! The light went back on and Valerie’s nudity slid from beneath the sheets and went to perform an errand I could not see but almost immediately I heard the placement of a chair and rubber placed against my lips. “Open up! I’m going to give you five with the cane in a moment, and you can easily make it ten. Hear me?”

Valerie stuffed my mouth and bound my lips tight in the soft leather strap buckled tight behind my neck. The chair was taken away and the pain began with swift, sure strokes biting at the bottom I could not move. I got the five strokes. “You’ll be able to make some noses through your nose, darling, but if you do, I’ll whip you again. Be a sensible girl and enjoy your punishment.”

Once more the light went out as Valerie sought her rest.

My hands were numb, my shoulders wrench with the stress. But I realized I had reached a plateau in my suffering and must endure in silence, if I could. It was coming through to me then that I really was going to hang there all night, spreadeagled across the end of her bed while she slept!

I told myself in dark despair that by morning I would be dead. Punished girls don’t die. I’m not entirely sure how I got through that awful night. Here and there I lost consciousness but those periods didn’t last long. I hated the tight strapped gag with a bitter loathing. Sometimes I cried, the tears trickling and drying to leave their salt upon my skin. The times in which I hung unconscious were a blessing I desired.

By morning I was pretty far gone and only dimly conscious of the cutting of the cords. I fell to the bed and lay there not much caring about anything except a vast welling of gratitude I had not the energy to express. Gentle fingers arranged my nudity and covered it with a blanket. I slept.

I awoke to the aroma of coffee. I drank it eagerly and came alive. Then I was led to the bathroom by a mistress who ignored my ordeal of the night. I was then handcuffed and led to the kitchen to be fed. There was not a spark of fight left in me.

“I’ll have coffee with you, dear. Haven’t the cords left the most gorgeous marks! I won’t bandage them, they’re altogether too lovely. I’ve got you the loveliest breakfast.” Valerie was quicksilver, slipping back and forth between a sadist and a warm and affectionate female, I couldn’t hate her, and basked in her affection all through four cups of coffee and food I ate as though starving. The sleep I had been granted worked wonders.

Handcuffs in front don’t bother a girl. When I had done the dishes and stood uncertainly in punishment-induced submission, my mistress got back to normal, “Seems we had something on the books for today, didn’t we?”

“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!”

I had half expected Valerie not to carry out her threat to take me to dinner handcuffed, but going down in the elevator she changed my cuffs from back to front. And then made sure the silver bands were tight. Feverishly I clutched the scarf.

I faced the crowed restaurant in pretty much the way Custer must have faced the Indian hordes. But I was surprised by the absence of attention to what was hidden beneath the scarf. Reaching our table I sat down in dual relief at taking weight off my punished feet, and placing my chained hands in my lap, pretty much out of sight.

“Pick up the menu and read it, dear,” came my mistress’ voice.

“They know me here and the waiter could care less.”

It was one of the hardest things I’d ever done, to lift my chained hands and reach for the menu. But, if anyone saw, they did not stare or make comment. Life in the crowded restaurant went on without the gasps of surprise I had expected. When the waiter came. I calmly gave my order beneath his indulgent eye, but heaved a sigh of relief when he was gone.

“You see, darling, just the way I said.” Valerie laughed away my pink cheeks. “You’re not the first handcuffed girl this place has seen.”

I refused to think about having to stand on wounded feet later, and refused to hide my chained wrists. No doubt some of the courage came from a cocktail which I downed quickly and asked, in shameful respect, if I could have a second. I had learned bitterly I must never take Mrs. Valerie Latimer for granted. Memory of the bastinado would cause me to think twice about doing anything without permission.

I looked around to find only one young woman gazing at the steel I displayed. I caught her eye and she smiled before turning away.

It was not until we were well into the entree that my world was suddenly shocked. Hugo walked in.

I learned later our meeting was pure chance. I looked up to behold his stricken features and accusing eyes as though he saw me naked in a public place or knew me for the traitor I was. When Valerie looked up questioningly, I blurted introductions.

“So you’re Hugo!” The woman who owned me now stripped the man with her eyes. “Would you care to join us?”

I should have been on my feet and Hugo and I should have been hugging and kissing. But Hugo squirmed uncomfortably and said. “I’m afraid I can’t. I’m with some people. I just happened to see...”

“Very well, then. Nice to have met you, but please do run along.”

Valerie dismissed my Hugo as a person of small concern.

Hugo did not move. He was looking at me and my handcuffs and the reproach of all the world was in his eyes. “I thought you were going to come to me, Diane, when you were free. That was the deal, wasn’t it?”

I held up joined hands and said, “I’m not exactly free, Hugo.”

“Nonsense. A pair of handcuffs never stopped a girl from doing anything, What sort of nonsense are you into now?”

“It’s not nonsense, you intruding man.” There was steel in Valerie’s voice. “I’ve just whipped this girl’s feet and the last thing she or I need is a moonstruck male, Please go away, you’re obsolete.”

Poor Hugo! He gazed back and forth between my stricken gaze and my mistress’ stern gaze. She obviously had no time or sympathy for any male. For Hugo, she was something new and mutual loathing blossomed before my eyes. My male lover dismissed my feminine owner without a word as he held out his hand to me. “Come along, Diane, we’ve had enough of this nonsense. Never mind the handcuffs, I’ll take care of them later.” Hugo was playing the heavy male and playing it well.

Instinctively I reached for the hand but stopped half way as the steel bracelets proclaimed my condition. For a moment three pairs of eyes were locked, until, like a scared little girl, I returned my hands to my lap. I looked up at my impatient Hugo and said meekly, “I can’t! Oh, Hugo, I can’t! Ohhhhh. Hugo...!”

Until that moment I hadn’t realized the hold Valerie had on me. I knew I should get up and walk out of there with Hugo holding my arm, but I suppose there were several reasons why I sat like a dummy and waited for others to decide, not the least of which was the illogical bond that had formed between me and the woman who had done such terrible things to me.

Valerie made the decision by speaking to me alone, “Your feet are punished, Diane. That punishment is finished. Do you want another?”

I most certainly did not want another. I felt strangely content that I had paid my dues and a slavegirl in good standing. As the wait lengthened, Hugo said an abrupt, “Have a nice day, Diane,” and strode away.

“So that’s your Hugo.” Valerie laughed at my distress. “I suppose such men have their uses but he’s not for you, dear, and I wouldn’t give him the time of day. Men only become interesting after their first hundred million. Eat your dinner.”

Valerie’s authority was total. It enfolded me in a strange likeness of love as I worked my knife and fork. I realized that she had broken me and I was hers. It was almost a good feeling.

“I suppose he’s impaled you a few times.” my mistress inquired without much concern.

“We were lovers.” I admitted. “He also whipped me on occasion.”

“Well, well, the full service! I suppose you thought yourself a lucky girl!”

“You said my punishment was finished? Will there be others?”

“You know there will be others, darling. Don’t nag. Your punishments are the essence of me being Me, and you being You. There’s wonderful times in store for us.”

“But what about Andrew Everleigh? Won’t he be expecting me back?” I asked.

“I’ll look after Andrew Everleigh, forget him.” I didn’t tell my mistress how much I’d forgotten already. Valerie’s force and power possessed me in a way that overrode all else. The past was already growing hazy. Plessious and my law practice dissolved into the mists before the radiance of the woman who had caned my feet. And even Hugo had become a disappearing back in a crowded restaurant. I shivered deliciously but not from cold.