“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.
8
Unsought Captivity
Drusilla was willing to admit to weariness. She estimated she had been tied to the cell bars a number of hours. There was no panic. Diana had said simply it was a “tie day,” an essential conditioning for girls who were slaves.
Her knees hurt. But that was to be expected. Kneeling on the concrete with her legs thrust behind her through the bars could not possibly be pleasurable. True, her pussy was wet. But Drusilla had come to regard her pussy as a traitor—sometimes! The rest of her was roped securely to the bars. Her thighs, her waist, her shoulders. Her hands and arms had been pulled back through bars as had her feet. Her wrists were handcuffed. Thus she knelt facing the small cell. her immediate view the stone wall. She was not alone.
“I’m getting awful tired of this, Drew.”
“So am I, Ginny. Think it’s for all day?”
“It likely is,” said the voice of experience. “You quite sure you can’t slip those handcuffs?”
“Oh, Ginny, of course I can’t!”
“Well, I think handcuffs are really made for men,” Ginny sniffed. “They don’t have girls’ sizes, and my hands are awful small. If Mummy didn’t click ’em so tight—”
“Mine are clicked too tight, Ginny.”
“So are mine. Oh, Drew, I wish I hadn’t smashed that vase—” Another sniff. “But then, if I hadn’t done that you’d be in here all alone. This place all alone is creepy. ’Specially when you’re naked.”
Drusilla took a sideways look at slender hips. By straining forward she could glimpse pubic hair below an adolescent tummy tightly constricted by rope. Ginny was standing beside her. The youngster’s hands were similarly constrained, but her ankles were bound to separate bars. Two strands of rope above her breasts strictured her back against the metal. Her breasts pouted under the strain. Her view was as limited as her older companion’s. “Are you hurting?” she asked anxiously.
“Sort of.” Ginny was always casual about pain. “It must be worse for you.” She giggled. “Did you make Mummy mad or something?”
“No, darling, we’re both here to build our characters.”
“Mmmmmm! Have you come yet? I wish I could help.”
“No, I haven’t. I expect it’s because my knees hurt so bad—not the right mood. Have you?”
“Not really. It’s sort of hovering. Even if I don’t like the way I’m tied it. still turns me on. I say, Drew, how about if we talk real sexy about our breasts and cunts and how we hurt here or there and what we’d do to each other if we were loose?”
“It would be contrived. We’d have done it already if we hadn’t been gloomy in all this rope.”
“Can you rub your head against me anywhere, Drew? It doesn’t take much.”