'Darling! People are silly. Even me. We don’t talk about things the way we should. Right now all I want is your sex. I’m going to use the horrid word, just for emphasis. I want to crawl right into your cunt where it’s nice and warm and I’m surrounded by love. When I’m safely inside I’ll lick and play with your clit until I have you jumping around like a Mexican jumping bean.'
She paused for a moment in thought. 'Darling, looking at us right now it seems incredible that our mothers would never have admitted to possessing nipples or a cunt!'
Then, irrelevantly: 'Do you get horny when Mark canes you? I do.'
Dorinda laughed delightfully. Terry’s sunshine might save her day. Uninhibited girl talk might partially defeat her shackles. 'Yes,' she admitted. 'One stroke and the fire really gets going. But if he keeps on caning me I just get hurt and scared. Until afterwards, of course. Then I’m all warm and wet and longing.'
'Mark knows just where my turn off is,' Terry admitted wryly. 'My fire burns a lot longer than yours. But if he wants to he can put it right out and make me howl.' She looked up suddenly. 'Y’know, if he discovers us here he might just do that.' She grinned confidingly. 'I have to admit it, but Mark control me utterly. I’m like some musical instrument he plays. He can extract whatever he wants from me. I respond. His power to make me mind swamps the poor little tricks I play on him.'
'Darling,' Dorinda was diffident over what she must ask. 'Which do we girls love best? A man’s phallus or each other’s tongues?' 'Our tongues, silly. What a question. It’s lovely when Mark fucks me, but he’s only a zephyr compared to the storm that blows when your tongue is inside. Anyway, darling, men don’t have breasts. Or nipples like ours. Men aren’t made to play with. Girls are.'
Dorinda explored again. She saw this ageless child as a storehouse of infinite wisdom. 'When men whip us, do you think it is a sort of love play? A prelude to sticking their things into us?'
'That’s the least of it. But sure, it’s there. I think they find some sort of ineffable beauty in our striped skin. Like a brand. Their brand, marking us as their own. I’m damn sure that when we moan and cry and writhe it creates, for them, an endless orgasm. They can boil up and flow over for as long as it pleases them to whip us. The only reason they don’t whip us all day long is that we don’t have enough skin and they don’t want to waste a good girl by killing her. Simply really.'
Dorinda was almost reverent before such knowledge. 'I’ve read and heard about men who go to prostitutes to be whipped. It’s the only way they can become potent. Where does that fit?'
'They’re the chap who goes to an epicuran restaurant and orders a hamburger. Just dull clods.'
'But girls love whipping girls. At least they do once they’ve tried it. What about that?'
'Would you love to whip me, darling?'
'With all my heart and soul! Right now there is nothing I can think of that would give me such joy, and I think a kind of peace…'
'Mark and I have talked about that. Before you came there were times when I simply watered at the mouth at the thought of whipping Amity or her whipping me. We figured out that actually we are all of us half and half. Woman and man, I mean. Male and female. Unless stimulated the latent half never shows. But give it a chance…'
'Oh, darling, I want to whip you so much!' Dorinda dumped reticence.
'I expect you’ll get the chance,' Terry consoled. 'Damn. If I hadn’t got us into this fix you could be busily caning my little bottom right now.' She rattled her chains in a motion of bafflement. 'But you see how Mark owns and controls us. If I go home a zebra he’ll punish us horribly. He’ll light the fire in my cunny and then put it out and go on and on and on… Probably do the same to you. He’d consider us equally guilty.'
'That goes back to the women’s lib thing. He can have his fun. But we can’t.'
Terry grinned wryly. 'It’s the way we are made. Their physical strength enables them to conquer us physically. That and the fire in our cunts delivers us into their hands. We haven’t a chance. We can use all our little tricks, but he can subdue us with one hand. At least Mark can. In suburbia men don’t use their strength. Or maybe there they don’t have any. But Mark rules this island. He rules us. He can do what he likes with us. Surely you know…'
'Do you like him to play with your nipples and your sex and bite your ears and all the other tricks they play?'
'I adore it. You do too. Don’t let’s kid ourselves. I’m as much his slave as you are. More probably. He doesn’t know it. But he’s in love. It makes a man weak. I suppose it’s just nature making sure he looks after his children. But I’m his sister. His love for me doesn’t inhibit anything. I’ll be whipped and whipped and whipped all our lives. Darling, what a delectable situation: he marries you and has six kids, but just whips me,' Terry laughed joyously at her vision. 'Wouldn’t it be priceless: me getting whipped, then you getting all the sperm pumped into you to make another child. I’d be a surrogate something or other.'
Dorinda’s response to this unattractive prospect was cut short by the opening of the door. Terry wasted no time,
'You idiot, Amity! You messed things up for us.'
'No Miss.'
'What do you mean no? You’ve got us fixed on opposite walls.'
'Quite so, miss.'
Terry glimpsed what Dorinda had long suspected. She cried out against so base a betrayal.
'You did it on purpose! ‘h, Amity.'
'Yes miss. I took the liberty in accordance with a thought entertained by Hislop and myself. A small pleasantry, if I may say so.'
Dorinda guessed that Amity was enjoying herself.
'It’s not pleasant at all. Hurry up, silly, and chain us both the way you knew we wanted,' Terry demanded hotly.
'I’m sorry, miss. But that is not according to our plan.'
The two captives looked at their jailer with concern. She eyed their predicament with polite amusement.
'You see, miss. Hislop and I felt that, perhaps, in recognition of a correction of your present circumstances you might be prepared to extend us some small favor.' Amity was primly correct.
'You rotten cheat. You mean you tricked us like this on purpose and now we have to pay a forfeit?' Terry sounded more curious than angry.
'I would not have chosen the word myself, miss.'
'Well, what would you have chosen? Make it simple, Amity. Never mind the pedantics.'
'Being aware, miss, of certain enjoyments arising from a mutuality of interests between this young lady and yourself, we had wondered if you might be prepared to extend similar satisfactions to us.'
A small silence fell upon the trio. Dorinda wanted to giggle. Amity was too good to be true.
'You mean you want us to nuzzle your cunt?' Terry excised circumlocation.
'There are more suitable synonyms, miss. But yes, that is our wish.'
'Why didn’t you say so? I’d have obliged you long ago.'
'It is not an easy subject for one in service to initiate, miss.'
'And now, if we say no you’ll leave us chained like this?'
'That is my intention, miss.' ! Amity, you’re priceless. Silly girl. Off with your clothes.'
Dorinda had never seen a female become naked in less time. Amity’s body was nicely correct as the rest of her.
'Which of us relieves your lust, you conniving creature?'
'I had thought both of you, miss. I would be honoured of you would be first, considering a longer acquaintance and all.'
'Here’s the carnal couch,' Terry invited impishly. 'Come and get it, you panting pervert.' With much clicking of chains she rose and waved their wardress invitingly to the bench.
Dorinda found herself disinclined to be a spectator to Amity’s victory. What she shared with the gorgeous child was all their own. She turned her back and stared at the wall. She would pay her penalty when the time came. She longed ardently for the padlock at her waist to be unlocked. She had no other interest in Amity. But she shivered at the knowledge of how completely they were in the woman’s power. Mark would not concern himself with their whereabouts until dinner. The day was long. The sounds were evocative. No fine rounded periods now. No correct prolixity. From the gasps and groans, and even small cries, it was evident that Terry’s tongue had touched an unsuspected chord. Dorinda wryly reflected how wrong we can be. Amity would have seemed to her as unlikely a
