'She's a really terrible girl,' said Terry.
Pettie Corbin said nothing. She looked scared.
'She tried to kick us in the same place,' Terry explained.
'But it's not quite the same with girls….'
'I'd like to shove a red hot poker up yours!' Petulance said tenderly.
Terry shook her fistful of hair vigorously. 'Naughty, naughty! Mama spank.'
'Oh, fuck off you naked bitch!'
Dorinda thoughtfully took one of the captive's nipples between thumb and finger. 'How about another apology, you ill-tempered little beast?' 'You're another naked bitch too – Yow!' Pettie fought strenuously and uselessly. The hand in her hair was implacable. 'Let that go you miserable whore…' Her ugly words trailed off into a cry of pure agony as Dorinda pinched harder. 'Oh alright! Alright! I'm sorry.'
The apology was obviously insincere. But the punished nipple was released. It was an angry red. Its owner looked down at it without pride. Pettie turned to me. 'You going to let these lousy whores- ' She let out a howl of protest as her nipple was once more put in a vise.
'I'm… I'm sorry! I forgot. Oh please…!' Once again Dorinda released the hurt bud. Pettie finished her sentence, her voice dripping sarcasm: 'Are you going to let these dilightful young ladies do what they like with me?' She tacked on the word, sir for full measure.
My girls exchanged a glance. This time each of them possessed herself of a guilty scrap of flesh and pinched hard, holding their captive as she went through all the motions with which I now had a sneaking sympathy.
'I'll be good! I'll behave! Honest….!'
'We've heard that before.' Terry said thoughtfully.
'We can't believe a word you say,' Dorinda sympathized.
'I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry…! Ohhh! Oh please… anything!'
The two nipples that came back into view looked as though they were on fire. Pettie groaned. Her hands worked uselessly at the cuffs.
'Would yoy like us to, er, immobilize her for you, master?' Dorinda asked respectfully, eyes twinkling.
'If you would please?' It was ineffectual but the best I could do.
They marched their prisoner out, I suspect with glee. Pettie wisely refrained from comment. I tottered to the living room and found my favorite chair. The dear girls did not take long. 'We just pulled her hands way up behind her back,' Terry explained.
'It's very uncomfortable,' Dorinda added with what I suspected was understatement.
I looked at them proudly. What a treasures!
They seemd ill at ease. They came and stood solemnly before me. 'How will you punish us, master?' Terry asked sadly.
Punish? Good heavens, I'd award them the Victoria Cross, the Legion of Honour and the Congressional Medal.
They surveyed me with soft meek eyes in which there was the faintest glint of mischief. It hit me like a ton of bricks. They beheld realization down. They laughed. 'How the devil did you manage it?' I demanded.
'I picked your pocket, master,' Terry said demurely.
My hands flew to my pocket. The key to the handcuffs was gone.
'It's on the table, master,' Dorinda confirmed.
'We wanted to powder our noses, master,' Terry supplied.
'We were just readdy to lock ourselves back on our rings when little Sweetheart came leaping by. So we grabbed her.'
'You mean, you had the key to freedom, but you'd lock yourselves up again?'
'Of course, master! We are slave girls. We know our place.' They said it in unison. A trick, I suspect, they had deliberately cultivated.
I expect I looked thunderstruck.
'Besides, our ankles were chained, master.' They offered that as if it was excuse for good behavior.
'You are utterly too much!' I told them with reverence.
'Yes master. We know we must be punished.' Again in unison.
I knew with certainty that if it took every penny I had I must buy these girls and take them home. With two such treasures life could offer no challenge I could not face. 'I would not dream of punishing you,' I said firmly. I love you too much.'
They looked at each other. They were by no means twins. But there was that same empathy between them.
'We know we did wrong, master. We want you to punish us.'
What would I have done? Think before you answer! With one girl you could kiss her and dry her tears, if any. Or pick her up and carry her to the couch and arrange her legs. But two! Each beautiful beyond a man's wildest dreams. You can't do that to two, not at once.
They looked at me soulfully.
'You'd better whip me, master. It was I who stole the key.'
Terry managed to make the confession sound like George Washington and the cherry tree.
'We are both equally guilty, master,' Dorinda said firmly. I had a feeling that, married to Dorinda, a chap would have to toe the line.
'You both want to be whipped?' I asked unhappily. I was trying frantically to think of a way out.
'Yes please, master!' The duet sounded as though I'd offered a trip to Acapulco. Happy anticipation.
Those two girls proved something I suppose we all know but don't quite believe: that females get the best of men every time. We struggle and protest – I expect we enjoy it – but relentlessly they push in the direction they want to go, and all of a sudden we are there too. Damn remarkable!
Not so! You say. Why would two girls ask to be whipped? Seems like you have a point. But you haven't. They want to be whipped because every stripe I paint on their lovely skins makes me more their captive than they are mine. Besides, women have a sense of the rightness of things. The situation called for them to be whipped. So whipped they must be! each stroke would make them stronger and me weaker. They would weep. But their tears would melt my male armor… Oh, never doubt it. Women are stronger. Women are The Establishment.
'How would you like to be whipped?' I capitulated.
'It is for you to decide, master,' the duet cooed.
A devil took hold. The male ego dies hard. 'How about across your dear little quims?' I asked nonchalantly.
The silence was pregnant. But short.
'Thank you, master.' They sounded ecstatic.
'How do we go about the job?' After all, it was their idea. Another silent sibling sensory. 'One of the rooms has rings, master,' Dorinda ventured without enthusiasm. I was glad of the absence of zest. Teach 'em a lesson. I let them lead the way.
Terry tied Dorinda. Then I tied Terry. They apologized for asking me to unlock their ankle chains. Obviously their legs had to be spread. By the time I was through there were three lovely blushes in the room.
It had the genius of simplicity. They lay on their backs on the floor, a noose round each ankle. The ropes went up and over pulleys in the ceiling. When the ropes were pulled hard enough the lovely legs rose up and spread wide so that by the time their bottoms left the floor each girl seemed to be about ninety percent sex. No one could imagine two delightful quiffs more invitingly displayed or more helplessly held. The fact that the girls had the use of their hnds altered nothing. About all they might use them for would be to beat upon the floor.
'I hope you like this, master,' Terry said doubtfully.
I could see her point. If I was a girl I would never choose that pose. Even on her wedding night a girl does not open it quite that far – at least I wouldn't think so! There they were, two hair ensconced vulvas screaming to be whipped. I chose a very slender riding crop that was nearly a whip itself.
Again the problem of two. Which one to weal first? Whichever you chose you left a question mark. On the basis that terry was the most culpable I laid a truly lovely stripe flat over her sex.
She wasn't a bit heroic. But then she never pretends to be. Having so much freedom, she used it. She went wild. But no matter how she tried she always ended up where she started. The ropes round her ankles won. Even
