“Not too bad?” Hugo inquired.
“Terrible!”
“Good. I expect that’s the way it should be. I’m having the Dover sole today. How about you?”
“How about a painkiller for my bottom instead of fish?”
We both got a laugh and Hugo shook his head as if puzzled.
“Damned remarkable situation we’ve got ourselves into.” He mused a few seconds. “I enjoyed this morning but I’m damned if I know what to do with you this afternoon. There’s a post in one room downstairs I could tie you to. Would that about look after things?” Hugo’s naivete was genuine. He would have been lost in Rockley, although no doubt intrigued by so many breasts and pretty bottoms. I could make a shrewd guess that he and I were where we now stood, simply out of his frustration with my failure to promote his Cause, plus a genuinely erotic curiosity about everything he’d learned on Plessious. If only I could handle him gently...!
Trying to sound truly interested, I asked. “That post will look after me fine for this afternoon, but any suggestions as to how I get tied to it?”
Hugo sighed admiringly. “You do enter into the true spirit of things, don’t you. Hell, I can keep you safe all afternoon by handcuffing your wrists in back of the pole. You wouldn’t go anywhere.”
I shrugged and twinkled. “If that pleases you, Master.”
“It pleases me, but don’t overdo the ‘Master’ bit. Let me get used to it gradually. I’m thinking of you and the pole. I like it.”
I liked it, too. At least if he had to do something to me, it was about as good as I could expect. I wondered if after he had fixed me and gone away, I could slip down and sit on the floor with my back against the post with not much discomfort, at least not much more than I suffered now. And perhaps because of it. I voiced something I knew I’d have to tell Hugo sooner or later. “Have you realized, Hugo, how it’s going to tear me apart to be an attorney at law one day and a whipped slavegirl the next? I’m handling this okay but there’s tomorrow and tomorrow. And I don’t think I can handle that. Want to talk about it?”
“You’re trying to fox me into saying you don’t have to bother any more?”
“Anything I say had the savor of that,” I replied, realizing I’d hit upon a profitable vein. “Can’t help that, it’s not intentional. I’m still prepared to live up to my word and yield myself to you every second day. But please thing of the emotional upheaval I have to cope with. I hurt where I sit, you’ve got this on me,” I held up my left wrist, loaded with handcuff. “Tomorrow in the office I’m not going to be normally adjusted to the work I have to do. Hugo, I really am trying to get some substance behind your claim. But right now I don’t care about your claim or my office. I can’t think of much at all besides being your prisoner. See what I mean?”
Poor Hugo! Hugo was not a complicated man, and long ago at the start of our association had been scared of me. Back in those days I’d been something of a bitch, but a lot had happened since then, and he and I were now on a quite different footing.
“Sure I can see your point,” Hugo said in a friendly manner. “But aren’t you forgetting this imprisonment of yours lasts only until my claim is recognized. It won’t be forever. How long will it take?”
“I’ll get out the statement of claim tomorrow and get it on the court docket, but actual appearance in court may be weeks away. If you whip me every day. I won’t have any skin left.”
Across the table, Hugo gave me a wry little smile. “So, okay, everything you’ve said is duly noted and I won’t expect a miracle overnight. But I’m going to whip you enough to keep you on the ball. Lawyers live by procrastination and I’ve had a belly full. I’m not idiot enough to whip you every second day but I’ll think of some other things. Let’s talk about something else.”
I loved this restaurant, with its atmosphere and sense of wealth. I adored being waited on and treated as Hugo’s girl friend or wife. For a few moments I toyed with thoughts of being Mrs. Hugo Markham, but that was too absurd so I switched speculations to the coming afternoon. I didn’t have long to wait.
The pole, post, or torture, according to one’s point of view, was, in a large storage room littered with the things a storage room would like. The pole was of metal and I suppose was about four inches in diameter and painted the same dull green as the walls. It was not an inspiring room or post. But the pole and I had a date and I could swear it had been waiting for me personally. To others it would appear an innocent vertical support, but for me it was like an introduction to a sinister stranger boding me no good. Innocently I inquired, “You won’t want me to undress for this, will you, Hugo?”
“Diane, you know perfectly well you remove your clothes. Get with it.”
“You want me naked just to stand against a pole...? Really!”
“I want you stark naked, sweetheart, and I want you to stop quibbling.”
I sighed but took off my clothes and kicked my shoes along with them. Without being asked. I backed against the pole.
The scenario had already been discussed. Hugo unlocked the handcuffs from my wrist and I put my arms back around the pole and wiggled my hands invitingly to demonstrate good intentions. Warm steel bit and tightened. Hugo played around to get the proper tension. He then came around to admire my breasts and pubic patch, a small pause in anything we did, My female attributes seemed to have an unending fascination to this man. Hugo kissed my forehead and went away, not bothering to close the door. Why the hell should he!
Right away I discovered something wrong. During the ordinary exploration of new bondage I discovered that while my hands were secured in the manner we discussed, they were also subject to an additional restriction. I could neither raise nor lower them more than an inch or so. Frantically I called after my retreating master and, luckily, caught him in time. I heaved a sigh of relief. I went straight to the point. “Hugo, this isn’t the way we said it would be. I’m handcuffed but I can’t move my hands, you’ve got them fixed somehow. Would you mind?”
“Would I mind what?” Hugo pretended to be obtuse. “Unfixing whatever it is you’ve fixed up. This is going to be miserable for a whole afternoon.”
“Isn’t that the idea, sweetheart?” Hugo laughed knowingly. “You were figuring on sitting down after I’m gone, weren’t you? A quite comfortable afternoon. Sorry!”
It was exasperating and I wanted to keep to my promise not to plead or beg or demean myself in Hugo’s eyes by complaining about every punishment when I know perfectly well I was suppose to be punished. Punishment was the name of the game. Stiffly, I retorted, “Sorry to have bothered you. I simply hoped you were being merciful, but never mind. I’ll stand here all afternoon and think about the nice time we had at lunch. Goodbye, Hugo.”
It was the right approach. Hugo muttered something under his breath but I felt his hands on the pole. This time, when he hurried away, I was neither kissed. I discovered immediately I could raise and lower my hands and thus could slid my arms down until my punished bottom could reach the floor. But with feminine inconsistency, I simply stood and played with the handcuffs I could not see. It was almost an hour before I gingerly lowered myself to the floor, leaned back against the pole, and stretched out my legs in an effort to get comfortable. It wasn’t all that good.
I guess if my bottom had not been so severely whipped I would have come out all right. But the concrete floor did nothing to soothe my burning skin. It was not long before I was feeling sorry for myself. And if I’d been a naughty girl in the first place, I would have been vowing never to be naughty again. But this was pure fantasy, and the simple fact was the concrete chaffed my caned bottom so I struggled back to stand erect, a more difficult task than I that though. Then I stood there wondering if Hugo was laughing up his sleeve at the female who was so totally his on every second day. I hate to admit it but having to stand there all afternoon, I actually generated a few tears I was thankful no one could see.