“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—?”