"Always naked, I suppose?"
"No, they had a cute little trick they played on the customers. We had to wear panties. But after he'd told us what he wanted we got up and first thing took the panties off." Susan laughed at the memory. "Oh, darling, you should have seen the way their eyes bugged. I think a girl could conquer the world with her pubic hair? if she was free."
In silence, they contemplated the improbable. It was Susan who eventually voiced their deepest concern:
"Mistress. . darling, everything's so wonderful, but what about you and me?"
Ilona grinned ruefully. "I don't think you should call me Mistress any more. Right now, the way I'm tied, you're closer to being my Mistress than I your's."
"Mmmmm, isn't it nice!" Susan thrust her knee hard within the heated cleft between Ilona's thighs, her fingers teased Ilona's nipples. "I could do anything I like with you. In a minute I will."
"I never was a very good Mistress, was I."
"You were terribly sweet and terribly lost. Wouldn't you like to go back to being the stern publisher with me nicely chained up to come home to every evening? Cicely would let you go, Wouldn't she?"
"I can't think straight while you play with my nips like that." Ilona complained happily "And, no, Cicely won't let me go."
"Oh alright then." The wicked young fingertips fell away from the hard buds they had created. "But have you asked her?"
"No."
Susan bent and kissed two willing lips. "You don't want to be free, do you? You want to belong to Cicely, same as I want to?"
"Yes."
"Poor darling!" Susan chuckled gleefully. "'Cept for our ages you're just the same as me. Way underneath somewhere you always were." She grinned ruefully.
"Trouble is we're going to feel awful silly being slavegirls together. I'll probably love it, but it's awkward for you. You and Cicely have a love affair going. I think you'd better both be my Mistresses. You two can do what you like but if you both whip me a little every day and keep me nicely tied we'd have a really groovy thing going."
"Susan, you're impossible?!"
"You're both impossible." Cicely had walked in unobserved, complete with jodhpurs, white silk shirt and whip. "I've been listening outside the door to the two of you making mountains out of molehills. The answer to the whole thing is simple.
There's no way I'll let you loose. You both belong to me. Anytime you feel awkward or silly, just tell me and I'll thrash it out of you. Understood?"
"Yeeees, . Mistress."
"Susan, untie her hands. That bit of rope was to tempt you." Cicely, in quiet control, watched the tugging of cord. When she spoke again her voice was crisp. "I did a bit of thinking while those two bastards were doing what they did to us. I thought damn hard about that whipping they promised me. I've never been whipped." She took a deep breath. "You are going to whip me now."
The impossible: The exquisite: A feast of lust: A cruel beauty: A breathtaking tenderness of love. . ! Ilona's mind was in turmoil. Her limbs were free but they obeyed a will stronger than her own. The collar riveted on her neck was her only bond. She viewed what her eyes beheld as a picture of herself. She was one with Cicely, her alter-ego.
Susan understood. Susan was infinitely wise. Cicely was as though drugged, her eyes alight with a vision of her own, her naked loveliness passive to the will of nymphet mischief. Ilona believed she herself could not have obeyed. But Susan could obey. Susan understood. Susan would whip her Mistress in a joy of sharing an ultimate quintessence of emotion.
Ilona watched a tumescent dream of beauty as naked arms were raised and female wrists strapped tight, her mind echoing Cicely's last words: "You are both free, darlings. Whip me. Then leave me tied naked to the post. Do what you like. Do anything. Ilona, if you order Josh to strike the collar from your neck he will do so."
The cringe and the wince, but also the flare of concupiscence at the sound of thong on female flesh and sight of a red line springing into glorious life on virgin skin. The richest girl in Texas had never been whipped, never, never, never. But she was being whipped now. The soft planes of her back, her curvaceous derriere, the round softness of her thighs were offering themselves as the strapped bare arms raised to receive the benediction of the Post. The richest girl in Texas absorbed her pain with no more than a long in-drawn breath.
Susan was a vision of youth, her poised nudity, the long sweep of arm, the twist of hips as she pivoted on the ball of one bare foot to make the air sing to the knifing of her leather lash. Her features were alight, eyes sparkling, intent and entranced.
There could be no doubting the rapport between the whipper and the whipped.
The screams were long in coming. They were preceded by feminine sounds and feminine motions Ilona recognized though they were her own. Cicely was not being heroic, she was a woman walking slowly into a strange land, her steps punctuated by the whine and impact of the whip across her back, her bottom or her thighs.
Sometimes there was the creaking of the straps as her hands sought to escape the security of the tight leather bands. When she began to respond with screams they were not of panic nor of terror, they were a contralto of acknowledgement, of an emotion long deferred, of proud fulfilment.
The lovely legs were passive under Susan's hands, separating themselves under the small slaps of admonition. Cicely could scarcely doubt the intent of this opening of her thighs, but she gave no sign and made no sound of protest as it was done to her.
When the whip cut within the cleft thus formed her scream had a new quality of exultation, her feet remained wide apart to receive what Susan chose to give. Ilona watched the forming of the weals, agonizing but fascinated, her love welling to adoration for a woman whose chosen immolation was a gift to the two who were free.
Five strokes within the open sex of a Mistress no longer a Mistress. Five cries of sexual agony. The madly working hips and loins of orgasm. Susan reached within the cleft and palmed below the thrusting Venus mound. Her hand came away slimed and glistening. She showed it joyously to the girl who watched, then raised it to captive lips. The woman who had been a Mistress licked it dry and whispered:
"Don't stop, Susan, I've not been whipped enough." As though in reassurance she added: "Darling, I love you."
The lash etched its most vivid stripe on captive skin. They left their Mistress strapped to the post. Cicely said no word and made no sign when Susan said, with finality:
"That's enough. I won't whip her any more, Ilona. She's a darling, she's marvellous."
They walked away and left the sweat bedewed nudity of their love to her dreams and her pain. Both girls had been so often whipped they knew their Mistress's agony past and done. She would be alone now with tenderness, memory, and perhaps humility. It did not matter.
"The bedroom!" Ilona whispered urgently. "We should be ashamed but we're both horny. I'm ready to burst."
They scrambled for the sheets. But Ilona paused. "Lock the chain to my collar."
She demanded urgently. "It wouldn't feel right?"
Susan clicked the padlock. When their successive explosions had exhausted them into whisperings she asked, impishly: "Darling one time Mistress, d'you realize I own you both? I've got you. You're both helpless."