“Caught you asleep, eh! Bet you never thought—?”
“No, I didn’t! That strap across my back’s cutting me in two.”
“Hmmmm!” His fingers searched. “Bit tight, all right. Sorry, love. Here, I’ll unbuckle it.”
Drusilla remembered the story of the tight shoes. She gasped in the sensual ecstasy of release. “I love you, I love you, I love you... !” Her gratitude was heartfelt.
“All set for the day then, eh?”
She tensed. Surely not that! But she was still helpless... !
She looked up wanly at her captor’s smiling face and pleaded: “Please... oh, please?”
“Want to go to the bathroom?”
“Yes,”
“O.K. I won’t tease. Just a moment. There’s a little something—”
The “little something” was a length of chain. Drusilla was still fastened too tightly to be able to see her husband’s actions. But the cold links went round her tummy. They were pulled tighter and tighter. ... A padlock clicked shut. “What’s that for?” she asked uncertainly.
“Just a small reminder, pet. And now—!”
Drusilla wanted to cry with happiness. It felt so good to have her hands and feet. The agony of their stiffness was pure joy. She pushed herself achingly from her hard couch and was grateful for Bryce’s helpful arms. “Oh, darling... !” She hugged and cuddled, suddenly aware of how lonely the night had been. They made love with a tremendous urgency and new, strange agonies of delight.
Their time had been far too short.
When Bryce, in a flurry of motion, had dashed off to the office, Drusilla was left wondering if something had been forgotten. She was free! Had he forgotten to handcuff her! Or had she been promoted?
Exactly how free was she?
The chain was hurting. It was meant to, of course’ It divided her as neatly as had the corset. Her journey to and from the bathroom had told her all to graphically that her hips were once more wanton and that she walked as provocatively as did a whore. Her fingers searched the padlock at her back. It was secure. She belonged to the man who held its key.
The hurt was not unbearable. The chain was, as Bryce had said, a reminder. It would nag her constantly, telling her what she was. Yet, in the privacy of their home, its effect on her was intriguing. In their bedroom Drusilla strutted up and down before the big mirror and gigglingly admired the outrageous behavior of her hips. Try as she would she could not make them behave. She was not sure she wanted them to.
Drusilla bathed. She washed her hair. Luxuriating in her possession of hands no longer joined, she did slowly and pleasurably all the things she wanted to do, some of which the handcuffs had inhibited. She walked about her house. made coffee and toast, read the paper. It was not until she leant against the sink to do the dishes that she realized she was still naked.
She dressed, more from a sense of what was proper than any wish to be covered. Anxiously, she examined her contours in the mirror for any tell-tale intrusion at her waist. But the chain was sufficiently indented within her flesh to betray no hint of its presence. The padlock was at the small of her back and was only faintly discernible.
She considered phoning Diana. Diana would drool over the chain and lock. But today was hers alone. The metal constricting her waist made Bryce a tangible presence in the room. Another woman would be an intrusion. She was about to go downstairs to explore what shocks the new room might hold for her, when the phone rang.
“Thought you’d be at your lawyer’s,” Bryce’s voice was jaunty.
“You didn’t think any such thing.”
“You’re wearing some damaging evidence, y’know.” Drusilla sniffed. “You could say I locked it on myself.”
“How about your bottom? I bet it’s rosy red?”
“Never mind,” she said icily. “Was there something you wanted?”
“Hoity-toity, we are feeling our freedom, aren’t we?”
She was certain he was chuckling into the mouthpiece. “But actually, I did have something in mind.”
“Bryce, don’t be mean... ?”
“Oh, you’ll love this one!” His voice told her plainly she would not love it at all. “You’d like a bit of exercise? Get out of the house... ?”
“Not wearing this chain. You know what it does!”
“Well, that’s sort of the idea.” She could imagine him grinning. “I want you to walk down Tilbury Street.”
“No!” Outrage pronounced the negative. “Why not, pet?”
“You know perfectly well why. That’s where the whores solicit. I wouldn’t walk down there any time. I certainly won’t now the way you’ve got me fixed.”
“Fifty with the tawse, darling?”
“I don’t care! I won’t do it!”
“Plus a night against the post?”
“Oh, Bryce, don’t be so unkind.”
“Don’t say no too hastily, pet. Think a bit.”
“That’s mean. You give me such awful things to think about. It’s not fair. Either way I lose.”
“A free choice, darling.”
“There’s nothing free about it. It’s coercion.”
“You’ll get a tremendous charge.”
“Bryce, you’re spoiling my day. Are you serious about—about—what you’ll do to me?”
“You know I am, sweets. Stop quibbling.”
“I’ll be arrested—or accosted—or something.” In the midst of her protestation, inspiration dawned. “Very well then,” Drusilla amended crisply. “I’ll do it.”
His chuckle was audible. “In the middle of the block there’s the Pacific News. Remember?”
“I’ve seen it, going by.”
“Drop in there and buy a copy of the London Times.
It’s the only place in town that sells it.” Another chuckle. “Just a bit of proof in case you were thinking of cheating.”
“Bryce, I hate you!”
“No, you don’t, sweetheart.”
She slammed the receiver savagely back on its cradle. Driving the car was surprisingly uncomfortable. The chain protested her every movement. While she wrenched at the wheel to park it was like a live thing round her middle.
There is a Tilbury Street in most towns. They are all alike. In order to face it Drusilla had donned her most unattractive garment and made herself as dowdy as possible. Setting out upon her challenge, she wished she had been less thorough. The sway of her hips was now doubly grotesque. She had practiced walking, but nothing helped. She approached the fateful block on Tilbury with a forthright stride.
Purposeful speed was the answer. It carried her past interested eyes, post hostile glares. A policeman spared her only a flicker of attention. Potential clients withheld their offers. Drusilla was pink cheeked and panting by the time she handed over the coins and accepted the foreign news-paper. Passing the bookshelf on her way to the door she saw the paperback.
It had received raves. Its cover blurb was unblushing.
Drusilla could not resist. She put down her purchase and browsed. But it was the old story of promise unfulfilled. The more she thumbed, the less her urge to buy. Disappointed, she replaced the epic on its shelf, brushed forcefully past a loitering male, and once more ran the gauntlet to her car. Settling into her seat she felt a thrill of victory. The rolled paper beside her was a prize. Now her ordeal was over, she wished it prolonged, and in more bewitching attire! The loiterers were mostly sad middle-aged men who looked harmless—it might have been amusing. She was tempted to retrace her steps, but thought of the policeman deterred her. She started the motor. Her chain burned.
Supper was a success. Drusilla had hummed happily while she worked. When she kissed her husband, home from toil, she was wearing his favorite dress. It was not until after the dishes were disposed of that the loving wife sank to her knees before her lord and proffered the newspaper that was her proof of obedience.
“Meanie, making me do a thing like that... !”
Their mood was good. Bryce accepted the offering. His eyes approved her humorous approach. He bent forward and kissed her.
“I bet you had three orgasms and loved it.”