“You’re very perceptive, Miss Ponsby.”
“I’m also very helpless, and you’re taking a terribly mean advantage. Please, Miss Durrant, don’t make me say that.”
“You must. Or else!”
Quietly, Miss Victoria Ponsby began to cry. Tears fell to the stone floor. Finally she pleaded brokenly, “Please cane my bottom six more times, Miss Durrant. I’m sorry about failing to please.”
It was almost too heartbreakingly beautiful to be real. I patted the marked bottom before cutting at it again and again with the yellow cane. Victoria could not possibly stand still and danced most delightfully. Victoria’s tears flowed steadily throughout her second punishment, and at the end it was I who dried her cheeks, When I took her handcuffs from the hook, she surprised me.
“I think I ought to hate you, Miss Durrant, but I don’t. I think it’s silly but I’m loving you terribly. I want to see you naked the way you have me. Please?”
It was an interesting shock, something I had not seen in this girl.
But there was about the request the same hint of dominance, the act of talking down to a social inferior I had seen before. I refrained from any insincere expression of outrage but simply said, “You’re asking for something you’re not ready for, Victoria, nor am I ready to grant your wish. You will see me naked in my own good time, but I will always see you naked as I see you now. Get used to it.”
“Yes, Miss Durrant.”
I took Victoria’s cuffed hands from behind her back and locked them in front. I felt actually involved with this girl who, even though taking a predictable course, had done so with elegance, Her real punishment would be explaining away twelve marks instead of six when displayed before her fellow prisoners. I kissed her and locked her inside the cage.
Upstairs, still locked in the pillory, Elizabeth Lord was waiting.
3
A Plethora of Punishments
It was a day of surprises, surprises which told me clearly I had much to learn about teenage female prisoners. I remembered the Frenchman’s bit of philosophy that a female is like a fine musical instrument which would respond according to the skill one used upon it. The prospect of exploring fifty feminine instruments was entrancing, stretching on and on into the future. I returned to my office and Elizabeth Lord.
“Hello. Diana.” It was as though I had never been away. I almost gasped in sheer ecstasy as I beheld the sight of silken hair falling down beside the captive head and the two captive hands hanging limp. Elizabeth’s pubic patch screamed aloud for an attention I was not prepared to give. I simply said. “Hello. Elizabeth, enjoying yourself!”
“Actually, yes. What I mean is, I have to endure this sort of thing so I might as well get all I can out of it. The way I figure it this is a damned remarkable experience I wouldn’t want to pass up. I hope you’re not going to let me loose.”
“The thought had crossed my mind.”
“Well, don’t do it. Keep me here a while and give me whatever humiliation goes along with the treatment.”
Elizabeth still led but this time I did not follow. “You’ll have to stop telling me what to do to you,” I pointed out reasonably. “You’re the captive here to be punished and I’m the headmistress who does the punishing. Most of the time you seem to forget.”
“Yes, Diana, you’re absolutely right. Please use that damned cane on me some more until you’re sure I really am broken and mean what I say. I know your position isn’t all that easy.”
Good gosh! This mature, lovely girl had been doing some reasoning while I was gone. Her conclusions saved me time trying to express my own. I asked, “You don’t really want me to cane you again, do you?”
“Yes. I’ve not behaved well at all.”
I caned the bottom of Miss Elizabeth Lord until she screamed. It took a long time. By that time I was sweating just as hard as the naked girl in the pillory. Only her sweat was from pain, mine from exertion and pleasure. I did not let her free but picked up my papers from the desk and dealt with them even though most of my attention was upon the bowed head of a naked female I would have to treat with caution.
Elizabeth was in a strange detachment all her own, almost a trance-like state. I knew she was aware of me but only as a part of her dream, the experiment she was making of Rockley and herself. I knew also we were tremendously aware of each other. Even at a distance I keep picking up her scent.
I worked hard at keeping my mind on the paperwork even though all I really wanted to do was watch the captive Elizabeth and wonder about this treasure fate had placed within my grasp. Victoria Ponsby had admitted my punishment of her fostered only love. I was pretty sure it worked that way, too, with Elizabeth. I allowed her to stand an hour in the pillory before I used the key.
Directly I used the key, she clasp her arms around my neck and pressed her cheek against mine like a child. Once more I had the feeling I had lost control. I wanted this silent communion as much as she but knew that somehow I would have to break the spell. Gently. I disengaged, turned the lovely nudity around and placed her hands palm to palm behind her back.
I suppose I chose the binding because of the personal intimacy, something of myself Elizabeth must bear, a small but constant nagging pain she would suffer as a gift from me. She said no word as I corded her wrists as tightly as I dared. Then I compressed her forearms to enable loops of rope to clamp her elbows tight. It is not every girl one can do this with but Elizabeth’s nakedness had a supple flexibility I adored. Strand after strand I wound around the unprotesting flesh and drew the strictures tight to make the final knot tight and at the elbows where she could never reach. When I turned her once again to behold the protruding breasts, it was I who clasped my victim in my arms to kiss and kiss again before leading her to the cage and inserting her. Our eyes had said everything, we spoke no words. I stood entranced as the lush maturity turned to face the stares and walk with seeming unconcern to find what fellowship she could among the handcuffed beauties who eyed her bonds askance.
Slowly they gathered around their freshly bound companion in distress and I wondered how long it would be before one of them found the courage to untie my wicked knots. But perhaps Elizabeth would be as tightly tied tomorrow as today. It would be an interesting experiment.
Uncle Andrew certainly got around. The shock he slipped me the following day took the form of a smiling African gentleman with very white teeth and an Oxford accent who was securely attached to a mischievous-eyed maiden of Rockley age by a pair of handcuffs from his left wrist. Neither seemed to notice the connection between their wrists, and once more I had the feeling of others playing the lead while I stood in the wings.
Introductions were instant, the gentleman being Mr. Mandel Matussi, and the maiden Miss Phomie Prendella. Arrangements had been made for Miss Prendella to enjoy the benefits of the Rockley institute to which Mr. Matussi had been delegated to deliver her in good order. Ceremoniously, Mr. Matussi handed me an envelope filled with documents and used a key to detach himself from the girl. Prudently he joined her wrists behind her back with the freed cuff. I sensed he was much relieved to be free of her.
“Miss Prendella has a tendency to run away and get in trouble.” he explained. “She needs constant supervision and discipline.” He smiled brightly. “You will find in the envelope full permission from her male parent to whip her daily and administer any other punishments you feel appropriate.” He sighed. “Miss Prendella has been a great trial and anxiety to all concerned.”
I offered him sherry which is a terrible British expedient by which they avoid offering you a cup of coffee or pouring a decent drink. Mr. Matussi shared the couch while sipping ritualistically while Phomie stood respectfully at the end of the coffee table, hands behind her back, and all the mischievousness of Africa in her dark eyes. I was told her behavior had been deplorable in her almost constant desire for male attention. From the way Mr. Matussi eyed his ward, I had to wonder if he had provided some of this male attention himself. Phomie radiated that intense female aura which left no doubt she could accommodate the male population of any country between her thighs, I sighed in resignation and admitted to myself she would be a pleasant change from all that blue blood in the cage.