"Oh, darling, so dramatic!"
"I have to keep you listening. Do you realize my former Mistress would have thrashed me three times already for the outrageous way I've been talking to you?"
"But I like it!"
"O.K. So when you're in the mood you give me permission to be bratty. Or, if I feel it coming on, I kneel and ask. You don't have to say yes."
"I rather like that one. You now have my permission to play with both my nipples while we talk."
Susan wrinkled her nose. "There you go again. That should have been an order."
Susan's hands became busy. "There, instant obedience. Forgive my wrist chain rubbing you, I can't help it."
Their eyes met, Susan's pout dissipated under a flood of affection. Soon, her tongue would once more seek its prey, her fingers tingled their vibrations into receptive breasts. Ilona smiled. The perfume of girl musk enveloped them.
Ilona removed her shoes. She was ashamed of peeking but was under a compulsion she could not control. She wished to see but not be seen. Within her mind was a turmoil with which she had become familiar, a small cyclone of emotions with Susan at its centre. . She tip-toed cautiously and peered around the punishment room door.
It was a picture so exquisite she was obliged to stifle a gasp. It was a picture she herself had created an hour ago. But, like most masterpieces, it had mellowed with age. Rebellious flesh and muscle had lost their tensions, the naked girl hung passively without motion, the tight straps upon her wrists sustaining her weight, her toes several inches above the floor. Al of Susan's femaleness had flowed in pain and fatigue to create a picture of resigned helplessness. Her head was bowed, her eyes closed.
Breathless, Ilona Paisley drank in the pure beauty of the nude who believed herself alone. Every detail would be forever etched upon her mind. The tension of suspension had ironed out nothing of Susan's loveliness. Her breasts were tautened but remained superb cones. Her Venus Mound was actually accentuated, as was the pubic triangle crowning its visible contour. Her bel y was flat beneath the delineated rib cage, her bottom impudent but motionless. High above, the straps bit deep round punished wrists, the hands limply open, fingers drooping in resignation. For' several minutes the Mistress watched her punished slavegirl, then silently returned from whence she came.
It had begun at breakfast. Pertly handcuffed, Susan was toying with toast and belabouring her favourite topic:
"Darling, you simply have to punish me." As usual she was animatedly vehement.
"I was rude to you in the bathroom, I tore your bra' strap, and I made some rotten coffee. I've been a lousy slave."
"I never noticed, darling. Besides, I punished you yesterday. You sat on that horse thing, remember?"
Susan sniffed. "Sure I did? for thirty minutes."
"Well, you didn't like it. I know you didn't."
"You should have left me there at least four hours."
"That, would have been far too long. Sweetheart, I'm fond of you, I can't possibly be that brutal."
"Then I'll never be a proper slave. I want you to punish me properly, and very severely, today. How are you going to do it?"
"I'm not. You're far too sweet for these excessive disciplines. The worst I'll do is change your handcuffs from front to back."
There had been a silence while they nibbled. Then, Susan had picked up a cup and admired it. "It's lovely, I bet it's imported?"
"Uhuh. English bone. Shockingly expensive."
Susan deliberately dropped the cup. It shattered on the tile.
Ilona surveyed the damage in dismay. She had cherished those cups a long time.
Angrily, she accused: "You did that on purpose."
"Yes."
No apology. Nothing! Just a cool speculative appraisal. Furious, with herself and with Susan, Ilona had demanded: "You wish to be punished?"
"Not a wish. I need to be punished."
They had glared at each other for long minutes before the Mistress muttered:
"Very well, come with me."
And that had been that. Ilona had hung a pouting Susan by her wrists and gone away. But not before the delinquent had demanded: "Four hours, eight if you want, but nothing less than four. Then whip me." She had emphasized her dictum by a frosty: "And good-bye."
It had been one of the longest hours of her life. As one of four or of eight, Ilona saw it as impossible to endure. Perhaps Susan could endure it but she could not.
Returning from her silent survey, she sat in the lounge and mixed herself a drink.
She saw the glass but it was superimposed upon the punished loveliness of the naked girl. She made the drink last as long as she could. Then she went to the phone.
In the punishment room nothing had changed. Susan had learned long since that, in a suspended nakedness, motion hurt. She still hung motionless. It would have been easy to suppose her asleep. Ilona knew she was not. Susan was absorbing her punishment in silent pain.
Determinedly, Ilona Paisley went to the switch. A moment later Susan's feet were firmly on the floor. She was still obliged to stand with raised arms, but her agony had been stolen away. The Mistress took the helpless nudity in her clasp and kissed and kissed again. Soon, Susan kissed back. Moments later Ilona was on her knees feeding avidly at the centre of her loved one's being.
"It was too soon." Susan moaned out the accusation with the final spasms of her climax. "Ohhhh, darling, I had hours yet to go. I still have."
"No you haven't. You've had enough."
"No. . Oh no. . Oh, darling!"
"O.K., so it's me who's had enough." Ilona said crisply. "I can't stand it, knowing you're hanging here all alone."
"But, my punishment. . ?"
"You've had it!"
Susan hung her head in defeat. Spontaneously, as though triggered by the same need, tears wel ed from both girl's eyes. Ilona clung harder and rubbed her wet cheek to mingle its salt drops with those of the punished girl. "I'm sorry," she sobbed, "I'm so, so sorry. . "
It was an epitaph.
Susan did not dress. She wore the handcuffs in an absent minded manner as though they had just happened. She had mixed their drinks and downed her own savagely. She mixed a second and sat in the lounge chair to sip it while contemplating her Mistress with sad, sad eyes.
"I've let you down, Susan." Ilona Paisley said flatly.
"You've loved me and been kind."
"But that isn't enough."
"It would be if we were just lovers. Darling, you love so gorgeously, you give so much."
The woman who had been Paisley Publications smiled somberly. "Sweetheart, don't let's rehash, don't let's debate. I'm supposed to be an executive type, y'know. Let me try something constructive. I'm a dud as a Mistress, I love you too much. Let me see if I can give you what you want."
In a single anguished motion Susan was on the rug and leaning on her Mistress's knees. She looked up longingly, her voice was choked: "You're too good to me, darling, I don't deserve?"
"You've given me the greatest happiness I've ever known. And, Susan, we're not talking about an end. We're going to talk about an idea."
"Yes, Mistress." The handcuffs clinked as Susan raised her glass. "Tell me about the idea. For once, I'll shut up."
Ilona laughed, her fingers riffling through platinum hair. "Ever read the story of
'O'?"
"Of course. Are there any of us who haven't!"
"Remember the first chapter when he ties her hands behind her back and takes her to Roissey?"
Susan sighed nostalgically. "It was beautiful."
"She didn't know where she was going or what lay ahead, but when he sent her to the door she went willingly?"
"She must have been scared to death." Susan mused. "I mean, with her hands tied behind her back, and a strange house, and then the way they made her wait in the anteroom."