"Re-charge your batteries?"
"A graphic expression, miss."
For the girl it had become a game, an intriguing game. For Dorinda it was pure farce. Absurd, ridiculous. But happening!
"How would you like me, Hislop? On my knees with you standing? Or would you like my kisses sitting down?"
"I would prefer to stand with you, miss. I will sit on the next occasion."
"You mean, you’ll be to weak to stand," Terry giggled. "Don’t touch a thing, Hislop. Leave everything to the young mistress."
Dorinda watched this one. Knowing that she herself had to provide the encore she felt the weight of her chains more heavier than ever. The thing asked of her was trivial enough. There was no emotional involvement. Yet there had been a steely compulsion… Amity had been implacable. A sense of true slavery encompassed the chained girl. She was being coerced into a sexual submission that would probably be disagreeable. The full humility would be demanded. She would give it. But without love it became frightening. A girl chained as she was chained had no will. She must obey.
Terry did everything with a flourish, superbly. Within the tolerance of her tether she knelt before the man she must serve and slowly unzipped his fly. Each motion was studied as though a camera was recording her performance. Hislop visibly quivered as she reached in extracted a most rigid member. Whilst the butler looked into some far horizon of his own she enveloped the engorged maleness with her lips and gave it her full attention. Hislop was taken to another world.
Dorinda and Amity watched enthralled.
"The Portuguese sardines are much the best. They make an excellent sandwich," Hislop stated afterwards. He munched with relish.
"After that gollop I got from you I’m not sure I have any room," Terry complained mischievously, but took a sandwich. "Fellatio and fish. Quite appropriate."
Dorinda wished she possessed such resilience.
"I must say that association with you, young ladies, is a real experience."
"How d’you know Dorinda won’t bite your knob off?" Terry inquired.
"Miss Matson is a lady." Hislop’s voice was frigid with disapproval.
"But honestly, Hislop old boy, you fellows do take an awful chance when you stick that thing in a girl’s mouth. You didn’t know it, but I was tempted to bite yours."
"You are joking, miss."
"No really. If I had something like that attached to me I’d be dammed if I’d stick it in anyone’s mouth. What would you have done of you’d suddenly found yourself minus knob?"
"I fear, miss, this is an unprofitable exploration. May I offer a glass of sherry?"
"You know what you can do with your sherry, don’t you? Sherry is just an excuse for not providing a decent drink. Give me coffee." Terry cocked an eye at Amity. "You are going to chain us decently?"
"Of course. One good turn deserves another, miss."
"Will you want me to service Hislop regularly, darling?" She turned to the butler. "I could be under the table while you were polishing the silver. Darling Dorinda could milk you whenever Mark isn’t looking."
"Hislop is not seeking excess." Amity’s voice was acid.
"Would you like to whip me, Hislop?"
The silence was electric. Dorinda sensed that Terry’s insouciance had touched a nerve. With a stricken look of do or die, Hislop said very simply: "I think I would give my life for such a privilege."
His words hung there in the dungeon. Etched in time. Immortal. A declaration.
Terry’s young eyes widened in understanding. "Poor Hislop," she said softly. "I’ll let you. You can whip me. There! Feel better?"
"Hislop is fully occupied," said Amity with decision.
"I suppose I am," Hislop sighed. His glimpse of heaven had been snatched away.
Terry’s surprised gaze switched to Amity. "Don’t you let him whip you? You should, y’know."
"I cannot regard it as one of the acceptable sports, miss." Amity like the rock of Gibraltar, if it could talk.
"Would you mind if he whipped me?"
"I would regard that as an ambition above his station, miss."
"How about Dorinda then? I’m sure she wouldn’t mind once. You know. AS charitable act. She’s not your employer."
"It would establish a precedent, miss. Quite wrong."
Terry’s brow cleared. Her eyes shone. "There’s only one answer then. He can whip you."
Amity flinched. "I do not care to be whipped."
"You’re a silly ass," Terry dismissed her and turned to Hislop. "Give me another sandwich, darling, and then go to darling Dorinda. She can hardly wait. Haven’t you noticed? That thing of yours is ready."
Dorinda performed her task. Not with love but with mischief. She bit and felt him stiffen in alarm. How easy it would be! She abandoned the delightful thought and sent her tongue to work. Amity directed the operation, ensuring the final clean up after the orgasm. Perhaps she was concerning with the washing. With willing tongue Dorinda relieved her of anxiety. Hislop’s sex was clean and dry and very limp by the time she was finished with it.
The butler gathered the remnants of the lunch and left the dungeon.
"Well," Terry demanded ominously.
For a moment Dorinda knew that Amity considered leaving them as they were. They had captured Hislop. She could not forgive. But then, swiftly and efficiently she did the thing she had promised. Keys turned, locks clicked.
"You really ought to let him whip you, darling," Terry advised her earnestly. "Much the best way to hold a man."
Amity blushed and hurriedly left. The door slammed. The thudding bolt told the two girls they were alone. This time, the chains were long enough.
Each had their own Nirvana, their Ultima Thule, their paradise. The slave girl and her sister found their own.
"I say, darling. The light is fading."
Dorinda had long been aware of the increasing gloom. It was several centuries later. Centuries that had passed as fleeting moments of ecstasy in which the two of them had floated on cloud and ridden the wind. "It must be past dinner." She agreed doubtfully. She had been aware of an uneasy feeling of helplessness since they had first been so heavily chained.
"I don’t care if they keep us chained here forever," Terry was replete and happy.
Dorinda was not so sure. She thought lovingly of Mark, her master. She remembered Mabel. She had no wish to part from Terry. But she longed to be free. The chains had not hindered them from making love. But she had never previously known such a weight of metal upon her limbs. It was frightening in its prohibition of easy movement. When they embraced they must first carefully dispose their fetters and heavy links. They were truly slave.
A dungeon in twilight is not a happy place.
"Once more, darling. Once more," Terry pleaded dreamily.
With a deep knowledge of possession Dorinda lowered her lips to the scented well. Terry moaned in delight…
"Another bad day by the look of it."
Mark’s voice reached them through a haze of sensation.
The two girls sat up, blinking.
Dorinda was desperately afraid.
Silence! Each delinquent looked pleadingly at her master. They did not speak. What was there for them to say? Mark surveyed the guilty pair enigmatically. Dorinda wished the floor would open up and swallow her. She buried her face in her chained hands and wept, the span of links swinging from her hands in a clinking loop.
Terry eyed her brother resignedly. "All right, darling. What do I get?"
"Both of you should remember what I promised you. What was that?"
"A trashing." Both pairs of female lips uttered the word in unison involuntarily. The penalty was vivid in each mind.
Impelled by the same instinct the frightened couple shuffled toward the man they had disobeyed. Reaching the limit of their tether they sank to their knees in front of him and bowed their heads. It was a beautiful piece of artistry born in a flickering hope for clemency. Mark killed the hope.
"I’ll make it a good one. You can be sure of that."