Protestant work ethic?'
'Why should I?' A slender finger pointed at the typescript on the desk. 'I can produce as much as most. If you want your slave to be a part time secretary, a chain on my ankle or a collar round my neck won't stop me typing.' The lovely young features brightened in amusement. 'You could allocate quotas and award penalties.'
'Mmmmm. . That's because you're highly intelligent. But let's look on ourselves as ordinary people who are playing out two roles because it heats our pussies. So much of all human existence revolves around the compulsions of our glands? It's something I've always deplored. In you and I creating a relationship, a life together in which we will be constantly sexually aroused, are we diminishing ourselves?'
'You poor dear Mistress, how you do torture yourself!' Susan's eyes danced. 'I think you're confusing hedonism with emotional identity. We're not seeking pleasure, we're just trying to be ourselves.' Susan stopped short. 'Say, am I being a bore?'
'Go on. I want you to.'
Susan grinned, her agile mind easily finding words. 'Don't you see that, up until socialism, the world was divided into slaves and their Masters and Mistresses. Other names were used, but that's what it boiled down to. Socialism destroyed this human force of gravity, they insisted everyone was, and should be, exactly the same. This left about half the human race out on an emotional limb. Slavery was abolished, they had nowhere to go.' Susan giggled, her young girlishness laughing at her words.
'Gosh, Mistress, that sounds stuffy!'
'Dear girl, you should know whereof you speak. You've been a slave looking for a Mistress.'
'Well, yes. But money and society will pressure us, at least it will you, into thinking we're playing a role. We have to kill that. We're not acting, we're for real!'
The youthful face was pinkly animated. 'That's why we must have restraints and punishments. When you whip me or lock me in a cage it keeps me in my place. In inflicting my punishments you'll do some serious thinking.'
'But it's still wickedly erotic, a sexual thing.'
'Given the least chance, anything at all involving females becomes erotic. Read the papers: it doesn't matter what happens to anyone of us it comes out sexual.'
They gazed at each other in wry amusement. Ilona laughed. 'So I could be a better publisher because I whip your bottom?'
'Don't laugh, Mistress, it could be so. I'd be a happier girl because I'd been told what to do and knew I'd better do it or else. It would be a return to civilization.'
'When I have that chain on you I'm going to order you to write articles for the mags'. The stuff coming out of your pretty head will sell.'
'Oh, yes, I want you to do that.' Susan was alight with enthusiasm. 'But don't let's make the mistake of apologizing for ourselves by being solely intellectual. If the kitchen floor needs scrubbing and polishing, make me do it. Whip me if I pout.'
'Do you realize what you do to my glands when you say something like that, Susan?'
'Of course I do. It works with me too, y'know.' Susan grinned confidingly. 'I'm frightfully casual with that cute expression: 'whipping my bottom'. But whipping me is something you absolutely must take seriously. If it gives you a wet pussy, that's a bonus. We eat because we must, but we also get great pleasure from it. We mustn't dwel on these coincidentals. Once you start whipping me you'l realize there's a lot more than my bottom, and a lot of different ways and instruments. You use 'em according to the end result you're seeking. It does not matter that the first few strokes wet my puss and make me tremble, that just happens. After they're done with I take my whipping very seriously indeed, just as I've said you'll have to.'
Ilona Paisley knew herself under scrutiny. To this lovely creature across the desk she must seem archaic, a pathetic relic striving to catch up lost ground. Action was vital. Pinkly shy, she said, awkwardly: 'I should take you home now.'
'Of course.' The young eyes twinkled. 'Or does Paisley Publications have a dungeon?'
Best to keep it light. Ilona chuckled. 'I wouldn't keep you in a dungeon all the time anyway. It would be a waste of gorgeous girl. At home I've had a room prepared.'
She laughed at the memory: 'The lies I told to get the work done. . !'
'I'm ready, Mistress. We can send for my stuff another day. I brought a small suitcase with me. Being a slave girl is awfully handy, y'know? no clothes!'
'You'll come home with me on trust, Susan?'
'Oh, you mean about getting carved up or sold to a brothel!' Susan negated such ideas by a wave of gorgeous hair. 'You're not the type, Mistress.'
Ilona Paisley wondered if the thudding of her heart could be heard in the elevator.
Its pounding was actually painful. The ride to the underground garage and her private stall was the most pregnantly exciting of her life. Susan reached and held her hand, the platinum beauty was utterly at her ease. If she was being delivered into slavery, no one would know.
In the car, Susan once more advised on what was proper.
'We mustn't drive back like this, Mistress.' The younger girl was genuinely shocked. 'You must tie my hands, behind my back of course.'
'But what could you do! Susan, I mean??'
'I could get out and run. I could push you out and steal the car. Please, Mistress, we have to start sometime.'
'But you wouldn't do those things!'
'How d'you know? If you'd just punished me cruelly and I was angry, running would be most natural? You should never give a slavegirl the least chance. Tie me.'
'But I can't, I haven't any rope.'
'Mistress, please. . !' Susan's tone was almost severe. 'Fortunately I've got some cord in my bag.'
Ilona accepted the loops of nylon. Stupidly, she admitted: 'I've never tied a girl. . or anyone.'
'I can tell that. If you fumble I'll try and set you straight.'
The cord imparted a new sensation. Ilona ran its length through her fingers, breathlessly conscious of its purpose and her own intent. But she felt only dismay when her insouciant companion turned on the seat and crossed her wrists behind her back.
'Always make me cross my wrists. That tie is the most positive.' Susan's instruction were cheerfully patient. 'But if you want to tie my elbows too, then you have to tie my hands palm to palm.' Susan peeped back over one shoulder and winked. 'The elbows are for when you don't trust her, or if she's good at getting loose.'
'What do you recommend now?'
'My recommendation is purely selfish, Mistress. You shouldn't trust it.'
'Let's have it anyway'
'Since its only cord and will hurt like blazes I'll plump for my crossed wrists.'
'Thanks. Now put your hands palm to palm.'
'Oh, Mistress!' The long sigh was ecstatic. 'That's so much better. I was beginning to wonder.'
So far so good! Ilona picked up intense vibrations and returned her own. Feeling inadequate but excited, she passed the cord twice round the passive wrists.
'That's right, just two or three strands. That hurts me if I struggle. But get 'em over and under and round and round. Then cinch 'em through the centre.'
Such a sense of power. And such a flame of heat! Ilona tugged, she circled and tugged again. She found the centre and plied her cinch. The soft skin was exquisitely indented by her strength.
'Now make me struggle. Then take up the slack.' Susan was heavily involved in what was taking place. 'See, like this.'
It was pure beauty. Ilona Paisley sighed in happiness and wondered what she would have done without her slave. She patted her work in approval and, grasping strained shoulders, turned their owner back to normal on the seat. 'You've forgotten my elbows, Mistress.'
Feeling foolish, Ilona turned the complaisant slave around and used more cord.
Susan had been right, the thin stuff did indeed bite cruelly into maiden flesh. She used strand after strand to
