He stooped dead. I could feel his chagrin and his shock. He gave the matter a good deal of thought, then asked: "Why didn’t you?"
It was a sensible question. It deserved a sensible answer. "I wanted a cup of tea," I said simply.
Poor Cedric. Nothing was quite as it should have been for him. He hastily clicked shut the second anklet, no doubt in case I changed my mind. "There," I said cheerfully, "I can’t run away now. I’ll go and make the tea."
His eyes never left those chains on my feet. They fascinated him. I’m sure he could not understand how I could walk in them. "Slave girls have to learn how to walk with their ankles chained," I told him demurely.
We sat and sipped. I’d have thought he needed something stronger. But the tea braced him. After all, he was English.
"I’m a bit out of my depth," he admitted.
I had to laugh. He managed he rueful grin of his own. It was like those stories Somerset Maugham used to write: a man suddenly finding himself a stranger.
"What did you really expect when you made this deal with Rabin?"
He made a lost gesture. "Not you."
"A piece of female flesh that wouldn’t say boo?"
"I don’t know."
"Lovely curves that ondulated as she hung from her wrists and you whipped her naked flesh?" I hadn’t read those books for nothing.
"Yes, I’m afraid so."
"Why be afraid? You’ve got what you want. I look very nice hanging from my wrists." I poured him another cup of tea.
"You mean…"
"Of course. You don’t think you’re the only chap with such ideas, do you? Sure I’ve been strung up by my wrists and flogged."
He looked at me with awe. For him it was like suddenly meeting Glenda Jackson, the President of the USA and the Queen of England all at once.
"But you’re so, so…"
"Ordinary? Rational? The girl next door?"
"You do put things rather well."
He looked and suddenly realised he was looking at something very female. As usual, he got pink.
"Don’t you still want to whip me?"
"You make it sound like a wife asking her husband if he doesn’t still love her."
"Of course. It’s the same thing. Is the male still hungry."
He shook himself like a wet dog. "Does Mr. Rabin know you talk to customers like this?"
I told the poor chap about my previous adventure. "He doesn’t mind as long as the rental is paid and I get home without too much damage. I don’t think he wants me damaged, though."
"I suppose that was a hint?"
"I’m sure there is a damage deposit."
He made other ineffectual motions. "It would be like whipping my sister – if I had one." He sounded bereft.
I kicked myself for getting us into this fruitless argument. If I hadn’t been so damn puckish he’d have been happily whipping me by now. "Look here," I said seriously. "You have rented me. You’ll probably never get any better than I am. You have a dream to make it real. So that is what we are going to do. Sorry and all that about wanting to escape. Sure I want to. But I’m a slave. I’ll be one for you."
I looked at him earnestly. "It might as well be you who hurts me. If I get sent back to Rabin in disgrace I’ll get a damn sight worse."
"I say, that’s jolly sporting."
You know those moods when you feel like ‘oh, what the hell’? I felt one then.. I felt sorry for the silly twit. He needed a tonic. I bent over. This time I could really touch my toes.
"Whip me, master."
He gave me two more. I knew he was holding himself in. I thanked him prettily and kissed him again. "Why don’t you undress?" I asked innocently.
Poor Cedric was faced with another AD – that’s short for awful decision. "In front of a girl?" He was truly shocked.
"I’m naked."
"Yes, but you’re…"
"You mean I’m a slave and I’M paid for so I don’t count?"
"But really, what would be the point?"
"You’d be all ready. You know, when a chap’s been cruel to a girl he always wants to fuck her. I’m not half so good with your clothes on."
He recoiled as from a rattlesnake. Poor Cedric. That unforgivable four letter word.
"Haven’t you ever had intercourse?" I daren’t slip him two fucks in a row.
"As a matter of fact, no." He made it sound noble.
"Well, let’s get that job out of the way first, then. I want you. You won’t whip me half as hard afterwards."
"Err… Thank you. Another time."
I laid down on my back and stretched my legs as far as the damn chain would allow. I was deliberately obscene. I reached down with my fingers and parted my lower lips and swung my knees apart. "You stick it in here," I explained patiently.
Cedric had a gift for being hypnotised. He stared with glazed eyes at what I was offering. I had a feeling he was expecting something to stick its head out of my whatsit and snap at him.
"It’s lovely and warm in there," I coaxed.
"But I’m supposed to whip you." He had a one track mind.
"Afterwards."
He was suddenly weeping. "I can’t! I can’t"
I’d guessed this all along. Those books had covered everything. "Could you have done it when you whipped me?" I asked shyly.
"I think so."
"Simple, whip me again." I handed him the cane and bent over.
He went on sobbing into his hands for a while. Then he began to notice how curved my bottom was. The sobbing dried up. I pushed a bit of my fur out behind. That has a very erotic effect. He looked at the cane he didn’t know he’d been holding.
He could certainly hit. I thought longingly of that argument and of how I might have prolonged it forever. I got two more. Real stingers. Immediately after they were over I laid down again and offered him my virtue. I was annoyed that my own thingummy was beginning to throb. I felt crinkly.
He threw his clothes away as though they were enemies. Don’t ever doubt that a man would sooner make a girl cry out with his prick than with his whip. If he prefers the whip it’s either because he can’t do it with his cock, or he wants to make it last forever. I suppose, if a man did it carefully he could whip a girl day after day after day after day.
He wasn’t bad naked. No Hercules, but passable in a lean sort of way. But his thingummy hadn’t managed to survive the disrobing. It was evidently very sensitive to immediate impressions. We both surveyed its flacidity with various degrees of chagrin. I simply got onto my feet again and bent over. At least now we’d be ahead the time it took Cedric to undress. These two were very painful. I expect he was annoyed.
He managed to get down between my legs before Napoleon lowered the flag again. The damn thing had no staying power at all. I realised that the sight of all my goodies at close range probably petrified the poor twit. I suggested a change of venue.
We were both a bit stodgy and conventional when it came to rummaging around again in old Rabin’s box. We picked a thumbscrew. Having done so we looked at each other with a sort of wild surprise.
"I’m afraid you’ll have to fasten me awfully tight," I apologised.
This wasn’t too difficult. There was a wooden chair with stout arms. Rabin had supplied the straps. After five minutes of trial and error dear little Terry was sitting with her wrists strapped to the arms, just about as helpless and unable to twitch as I’d ever been.. Mark had never needed to fasten me like this. It was total. It was scary. I could see by the look on Cedric’s face that I looked very nice. But of course, we weren’t concerned with Cedric’s face.
I’m not mechanical. Neither was my would-be torturer. It took the two of us quite a long while to get the contraption fitted to one of my wrists and hands. When it was done I wished I was anywhere but where I was. I mean, after all those books I’d read. I would tell Cedric was having to call up all his own reserves. His little Willie had shrunk to almost nothing.
There always comes the final moment. No more excuses. No more words. We had begun to pant. For different reasons.