"I know." Pettie speaks without any of her usual sarcasms. "But I have to ask. You might be merciful. How am I to know? Please lower my arms. I'll still be helpless." She flung tears from her face by a vigorous shake of the head. She was learning. She should learn more. "How many strokes would you ask for to gain the relief yoe seek?" I ask callously.
She hears my brutal question with joy.
"Any number you wish, sir."
"Why call me sir?"
"It is a title of respect. I have supposed it required."
"Call me master."
"Yes master." I could sense her loathing. But she kept it from her voice.
"Well, how many?"
How cruel a question!
"Five, please, master?" her voice was a question mark. How vividly her mind had computed. To ask for as few as possible without giving offense. I was pleasantly surprised by the five. She was learning.
"Five it is. I shall lay them on hard."
"Thank you, master." I could scarcely believe my ears. I struck the exquisitely bent derriere and watched the resultant gymnastics. Pettie's vocals were as erotic as her body.
I had expected pleas and excuses. But there were none. Agony aplenty. But no evasions. Her bottom was to be cut five tomes. The vulgar hoyden was reconciled. I struck again… and again… and again. Pettie rose to heights of pain undreamed of. I shared it all. Never once did I feel other than that I was doing her a favour.
At the end of the fifth I let her agonize awhile. Hers was a beautiful pose from which a girl might proclaim her anguish. But after a little while in which Pettie herself did no prompting, Suburbia gave me a few prods. Hastily I loosed the tether. Pettie's hands fell normally behind her back. I think she simply soaked up the relief. It was quite a while before she whispered: "Thank you master." It sounded genuine.
I let her enjoy. I was quite sure those handcuffs had been rough on her wrists. Probably a damn sight worse than the six with the cane. She didn't seem to want to do or say anything. Just stood.
"You know you have to be punished?" I asked offhandedly after awhile.
"Yes master." That 'master' had become automatic.
I recalled something. It seemed pertinent. "Do you remember asking me what good pain was: what difference it made: what point there was inflicting it on you?"
The naked girl searched her mind and shuffled uneasily.
"Yes master."
"Well?"
"You were right, master. I did not believe it then. I do now."
"When was it you find out?"
She gave my question the same careful consideration.
"With the first stroke, master."
I was awed. the power of the whip on female flesh! Had those old buffers down through history been right! whip your woman into submission and damn the rest! Damn the niceties! Damn chivalry! A woman was a chattel. Keep her so.
"How do you wish to be punished?" I used my weakness to probe.
"It is for you to say, master."
"I'm going to whip your loins."
Pettie tensed. I watched the knowledge of what awaited seep through her being. She gave me a quick sideways look as though to verify. "You are going to whip across my cunt, master?" She wanted it specific.
"Yes."
"Thank you, master." She had abandoned hope.
I went back to my girls. They were happily engaged in feminine chatter as though they had not been cruelly whipped. The words died as i entered. I was more important. They looked up at me hopefully. "I have work for you," I said, and loosed their ropes.
They untied their ankles themselves. Then stood, quite free. On impulse I asked: "Why don't you run? Why don't you jump me?"
"We are slave girls, master." They had an answer to everything.
They picked up their ankle chains and offered them to me.
"You should chain our feet, master, lest we be tempted."
"You want me to?"
"Yes, master." Their female desire blended as one. On impulse I asked: "When did you first become slaves?"
They exchanged their sibling look. "When the whip first marked us, master."
It is as though all the women of the world are one. But men are scattered far and wide. I adored them. They knew I adored them. They glowed. "I have a task for you," I said.
They adored that too. I am in danger of belonging to them utterly instead of they to me. Pettie surveyed their glowing entry without hope. "Fuck off," she requested, "I've had enough of broads."
"You prefer our master?" The question reeked of approval.
"All I want to do is get out of here." Pettie surveyed them disdainfully. "I suppose you're going to whip my bum?"
"Not exactly your bum, darling."
"You needn't call me darling, you lousy Les."
Dorinda turned shining eyes to me. "May we, please, afterwards, master?"
I signified approval.
Pettie saw the interchange. "About the best thing that can happen to a girl in this nut house is to get her arse whipped," she declaimed bitterly. "You'll love it, darling," Terry was enthused.
"Lick your own cunt," Pettie tugged at her handcuffs in despair.
"You're being very silly," Dorinda reproved. "Besides, if you're a woman's libber, wouldn't you sooner have my tongue than a man?" Pettie moaned in exasperation and tugged away at her bonds. "I don't want anything. Can't you understand? All my cunt wants is to be left alone." "Awful waste," said Terry.
"It's not going to be left alone now," Dorinda promised.
I stood to one side and watched.
It was a very feminine affair.
They left her handcuffs on. It simplified their job enormously. She made quite a to-do about laying on her joined arms. But Terry and Dorinda paid no attention. The female thing delivered to them was of no consequence. They went about their work absorbed.
When they had her spread helpless as they had been, they handed me the whip and retired to separate walls.
But I sensed something wrong. Pettie expected me to whip her. Thus, obviously, she should be shocked. I handed the whip to Dorinda, and myself retired to the sidelines. Pettie's eyes widened in fear. Women are merciless with women. Dorinda struck.
All in the mind? Perhaps. But, watching, it seemed to me that Dorinda knew things I did not. The weal across the pouting lips rose up to proclaim female dominance. the keening cry of anguish was totally feminine. Pettie was in good hands.
The two girls took turns whipping her sex. Sometimes the prostrate girl with her spread legs turned to me as her only hope. "Master, oh please master. Make them stop. make them…"
I did not make them. Pettie screamed and screamed.
"Please master, I'll never try to escape…. never!"
The whipping went on and on. Each girl intent as she accepted the cane. The female vulva staring up in mute appeal, the skin around it scarlet, turning purple.
Suddeny it stopped. "May we tie her, master?"
"Is she not ideal as she is?" They nodded, eyes aflame. "Thank you, master. Do you wish to watch?"
I did not wish to watch. This was a female thing.
"Don't leave me alone with them. master, oh, please…!"
I went away. I looked back only once. Dorinda's mouth was buried deep within the hair between our delinquent's legs. She was sucking lustily. Terry was not even aware of me.
I was not alone. The Grand Marnier kept me company. That and the sounds…. I expect it was more the sounds. I wished I had had the courage to stay. But I knew it best to allow them their own joys in their own way. I had no wish to envy them more than I already did. To be female must be wonderful. They have no need of men. I turned to the Grand Marnier. It was a small comfort.
I dreamt of Suburbia and longings. Of how a girl's breast beneath a sweater could send me bonkers. Of how a bit of thigh revealed in the underground could fill my day with passion and loneliness. Someone would marry these breasts and thighs and enjoy them. I pictured myself on my wedding night, taking off the clothes that had cheated me. What would I find? Nothing like Dorinda or terry. I was sure of that. But I was curious. Why didn't I kidnap one of those self satisfied little bitches and find out what was underneath her clothes? I laughed inwardly. I had no need. Dorinda and Terry and Pettie offered me finer breasts and better handfuls of cunts than any underground. Their agonies were more rhythmic than the clickety click of the tube train's wheels.