Handcuffs are an insidious compulsion. Because they don’t hurt you feel quite sure you can deal with them and probably slip them off your wrists. I suppose it’s this ridiculous notion that drives a girl to twisting and tugging against the steel. Anyway, that’s what I did, and when Hugo returned at early evening he found me with chaffed wrists and an almost indecent anxiety to please. Boy, did he possess me but good!
“You look a little sad, Diane?”
“Yes, Master, that’s the way I feel.”
“We might then say the pole was potent?”
“Yes. Master. Please get me away from it.”
“But you make such a pretty picture there. Diane. If I could paint in oils, I could make a masterpiece out of that beautiful pose of dejection. But I do have a camera. Would you like me to take a snap?”
“No thank you, Master. I don’t want to see what I look like. All I want to do is walk away.”
“Boy, sweetheart, you must have had a bad afternoon!” Hugo’s tone was pure admiration. “Are you telling me you’d be happy to walk away from that pole with your hands still behind your back?”
“Yes, Master. I’d be very happy.”
Hugo sighed, prolonging the agony. If ever a man was in the catbird seat, it was Hugo right now. Hugo had me for sure! As though to clinch my claim. I said. “I’ve even been crying - in case you’re, interested, ”
Hugo was drinking in every word as though it was the sweetest nectar a man could ever sip. “Aren’t you overdoing this a bit, sweetheart? I admit I like it but enough is enough.”
“I’m only telling it as it is. You’ve got me and you can do what you like with me. You’re my Master. I can’t even walk away from this damned pole...” I allowed heart-break to enter my voice. “Please use a key, Master.”
Hugo, no doubt feeling absolutely omnipotent, used the key and a few moments later I stepped away from the pole. Hugo had still got my hands handcuffed behind my back, which in my present frame of mind was a mere trifling inconvenience. “Thank you, Master. You’ve no idea how good this feels.”
“I’m sure it does. Go ahead, walk around. Everything you do, Diane, teaches me something. You’re a beautiful subject and from now on through dinner I want you to stop calling me master. I know I can do what I want with you but there’s no need to belabor the point. Right now you can kneel and make your vow.”
The vow was one of the things we had created together in the lighter moments of my captivity. If Hugo wanted it, I was prepared to deliver, so slipped to my knees, which isn’t all that easy when you have no hands, and sincerely intoned, “You are my Master. I belong to you totally. On every second day I will deliver my body to your pleasure. I am your slave.”
I could tell Hugo was moved. I knew for sure I had done a good job of verbal abasement. I made sure my knees were well apart and my head properly bowed. My captive hands behind my back were still and resigned to the clutch of steel. I belonged to Hugo Markham as no girl had ever done before.
“I find you utterly fascinating.” Hugo was helping me up. Face to face we kissed with an intensity to leave me wondering about my handcuffed wrists. Feeling I had to say something, I spoke, “You spoke of dinner, Hugo? What did you have in mind?”
“Bathe and dress, then I’ll pick the place.”
“I can’t bathe and dress unless you give me my hands.”
With another mutter, Hugo produced his magic key. My heart sang with joy as the twin cuffs were once more locked upon my left wrist. As I bathed and dressed, I found myself singing those small, sad songs of unrequited love.
Once again the magic of a restaurant in which money did not matter wafted me from the clutch of restrains and the bite of the whip. Hugo Markham can be an amusing companion when he chose, and I found myself enjoying his every quip. The first thing we knew we were both laughing as though our situation was entirely normal instead of being about as bizarre as any could be. Hugo exerted himself to make me happy, and I really and truly was happy in forgetting tomorrow.
A cloud crosses the sun, and for several moments we become conscious of mortality. It was that way now, and when Hugo and I looked up in surprise at the intrusion, we beheld a female far too beautiful for her own good, or for the welfare of mankind. She was looking at my left wrist and, as though from old acquaintance, said with deep sincerity, “I know about that thing on your wrist. I know about you and what you are.” She looked at Hugo. “I offer myself, do you want me?”
Poor Hugo, he wasn’t ready for it, and I bristled with hostility. But Hugo was a gentlemen. “Would you care to join our table?” he asked politely. “I don’t believe we’ve met?”
“I don’t want to eat or drink or sit down.” our gorgeous interloper said without emphasis. “I want you to take me home with you and deal with me in the way you deal with her.” She made a contemptuous gesture my way. “If you care to dispense with her. I’ll take her place. I’m probably the most beautiful girl who will ever make you such an offer.”
She sat, taking Hugo’s glass and quietly sipping while Hugo and I stared in wonderment before he signaled a waiter for more drinks. My feminine hostility simmered as I examined the intruder. The damned girl had it all, and was well aware of having it all. She even quietly apologized for draining his drink. “I’m not a drinker, but what I’m doing now is not that easy.” She smiled at both of us. “I expect you know all about making contacts and how impossible it is, my first worthwhile opportunity. And I won’t just walk away from it.”
“But you’re not the type, you’re no sweet, little submissive!” I burst out angrily.
“Did I say I was!” Her eyes stripped me bare, still with that faint inflection of contempt. “There wouldn’t be any point in what I’m asking if I was one of those, what do you call them, submissives? I wish to be broken. I want you to break me.”
“You’re taking a great deal for granted.” Hugo said. He was intrigued but cautious. “You’re reading a lot into a pair of handcuffs on a lady’s wrist.”
“It’s not what I see but what I sense. The vibrations from you both are very clear.” Margo Hammil was almost panting. “Look. I’m a beautiful bitch who wants to be broken by a man and genuinely enslaved. I’m real! Can’t you understand!”
It was obvious our beauty in distress had little interest in me, she wanted Hugo. She was probably seeing him as a dominant force, breaking maidens to his will. I looked down at the shinning steel encircling my wrist and got a thrill out of my own handcuff. I could well imagine what it would do to a girl aware of its intent and purpose. I began to view Margo Hammil with a more kindly eye.
“Miss Durrant and I have an arrangement satisfactory to ourselves. I really don’t know where you’d fit in. You’d probably hate it anyway,” Hugo said patiently.
“I would hate it. That’s the whole idea. I don’t even know what you would do with me or to me ... I don’t even know what games you two play. I’ll resent and rebel and you really will be compelled to break me down into obedience and humility. And I warn you right now, I’m not a humble girl. What should I expect? Chains and ropes and whips...?”
With the arrival of the soup our proud beauty consented to eat with us, I could tell Hugo was thinking hard what to do, so I spoke for him, “Mr. Markham is not the whip-wielding monster you seem to think. The relationship you find us in is by mutual consent. He’s right, you know, you wouldn’t like what I have to put up with one little bit.”
“Let me take your place. If it hurts, it hurts!”
I looked at Hugo and shrugged helplessly. Hugo must have been feeling out of the conversation and now took command in one of those authoritative moments of which he was entirely capable. He motioned to my much-discussed left hand, “Give it to me.”