F. E. Campbell

Sweet Slavery

Chapter One

Female.

It had begun as one of those small jokes which, if the mood took them, could be turned into reality, a tacit but giggling contemplation of the delicious. They made a big deal of debating the length of time, they called it 'the sentence', during which Griselda would be handcuffed. They toyed delightfully with six months. . twelve?

Certainly nothing less than three! There was also the portentous question of in front or behind Griselda's back? and should she wear something or be nude? Each girl knew the answers but it was warmly erotic to roll alternatives off the tongue. And the lady must protest?!

"But, 'Tonia, behind my back I won't be able to do a thing."

"I'll do it all, darling. It's not the first time, y'know." Griselda pouted.

"You'll get tired of that. I bet you unlock me the second day."

"You know I won't It's you who'l be pleading? and it never has stopped us making love."

Each tucked the inevitable into a mental recess, the suspense of evanescence was too precious to deny. They savoured an erotic possibility they could so easily make real. Reflectively, Antonia Noyes questioned: "How long have I owned you, Griselda?"

"Always."

"Yes, I know. But since I first brought you here?"

Griselda laughed. "I was handcuffed then, don't you remember? It was four years ago, four years and five months. I was twenty-two." She laughed again. "We'd both agreed on a week-end."

"Suppose I never did unlock them, just left them on you?"

"So? So, alright. There's nothing to stop you."

"That's a dare. You're being foxy."

"Want me to go and get them?"

"That black pair, the expensive one's."

"O.K."

Ilona Paisley was uncertain whether to be intrigued or annoyed. They could be putting her on. Or perhaps her reputation had preceded her. In interviews like this it was so important to hold on to initiative, but her's had slipped. The naked girl on the floor, even though she had spoken no word, had stolen it.

"Paisley Publications." She asserted. "I am Ilona Paisley."

"Yes, of course." The voice was beautifully modulated. "I have to feel honored, and I have to ask why?"

"Well, you are the daughter of Senator Noyes. He wasn't small potatoes." Miss Ilona Paisley allowed her attention to stray to the nude beauty reclining against her hostess's knee. "And word does get around, y'know. I've always given the avant garde a lot of space. They fascinate the middle classes, and that's where the circulation is."

"I'm not one of them."

Miss Paisley nodded at the girl on the rug. "I'd say she was your price of admission." She hesitated, then demanded: "Her arms are handcuffed, aren't they, behind her back?"

"Yes." The smile was amused. "Does that make me 'way out'?"

"Way far out. What I'm looking at is good copy."

"It's also private. I once read an article about you in one of your own magazines.

It called you the 'Sybarite Tycoon'."

"Yeah, wrote it myself. Can't have people messing with me in print. Look, I'll give your story any treatment you like? write it yourself if you want?"

"Griselda, cocktails please." The smile was still amused. Miss Ilona Paisley was entranced. Story or no, this was worth the price. Aware of excitation, she registered every motion for future reference. These were an elusive pair to docket. They appeared of an age, the late twenties. One of her favourite words, 'soignee' applied to both, even the nude was immaculately sophisticated. In a single unfolding fluidity it rose to its feet and went to the bar.

Ilona Paisley watched the impossible. The damn girl was handcuffed but it did not seem to matter. One bare arm circled back to accommodate the other, a twist of an exquisite torso, reaching fingers only partly inhibited by steel. Straining like that, the girl showed the loveliest breast the publisher had ever seen. There was the tinkle of glass and gurgle of a bottle. . By the same expedient the glass was carried and tendered without spillage. Miss Paisley had the feeling she was being laughed at. But she trod lightly. "Care to tell me what goes?"

"Actually, nothing. Griselda belongs to me, that's all."

"Hmmmmmm, Am I allowed to speak to her?"

"Oh, yes. She'll answer what she wishes to."

Ilona Paisley was conscious of two pairs of extremely feminine eyes regarding her with polite attention. If one was subservient and the other a Mistress their faces gave no sign. The naked girl seemed totally self possessed, relaxed, intelligent.

"How long have you been wearing handcuffs, Miss. . ?" She searched back to the introduction, "Miss Sanderson?"

"On and off for over four years, Miss Paisley." It was another voice to remember, educated, articulate.

"But this time? Did you put them on 'specially for me?"

"They have been as they are now for more than two months."

"You're putting me on?"

"No, really! It was something we both wanted." The words were patient in understanding. "You noticed with the drink, I'm not completely helpless. But what I can't do myself 'Tonia does for me."

"Would you mind backing up and letting me see your wrists and hands. . and the cuffs?"

Again the exquisite fluidity, this girl was ageless. Miss Paisley found herself gazing at a round taut bottom, above which two hands were open and relaxed and two wrists pulled tight the metal linkage of their bond. But there was something else:

"Your derriere's got. . marks?"

"It was caned a few days ago."

Ilona Paisley experienced lust. There was something wickedly sexual about what was being offered for her attention and about the quiet acquiesence of Griselda's tone. Momentarily at a loss, she fingered the shining chrome bands. They' had been made firmly snug on the wrists they confined. She could not tell the degree in which the skin was chafed, certainly it was slightly red. But then, if the girl did not struggle. . ! "Thank you." She said evenly. "Naturally I'm curious. Care to tell me anything?"

"We're just what you see. No mystery. Griselda, give Miss Paisley another drink."

"Could we make it first names? I'm Ilona."

"Of course." Antonia gave her Mona Lisa smile. "I'd pictured publishers as fat and forty or tweedy British. You're a relief."

"Mind if I watch this girl of your's, I find what she's doing utterly beyond belief."

"Griselda's very special, she won't spill a drop."

"What's with you? Mistress and slavegirl?"

"We don't see it like that. We're just two girls."

"But those marks on her bottom?"

"She earned them. If she spilt your drink she'd earn some more. You could watch her receive them."

Ilona's pulse thudded. She longed for a dropped glass. "Alright then." She conceded, "What's with you two? B amp;D. . ? I've run a feature or two on S amp;M. I think they're for the birds. Anyone can get horny over a whipped ass, especially a cute little can like she's got."

"We don't use those names. They're not really us." Antonia Noyes was enjoying her visitor's avid curiosity, it bestowed a pleasant omnipotence. She was envisioning Ilona Paisley in the nude and with a well striped bottom! The woman was not a great deal older than herself, as a diversion she might be worth while. She would amuse Griselda. "You'd like to whip Griselda's bottom." She suggested blandly. "I can tell."

Ilona Paisley was again viewing the buttocks in question. They came along with her fresh drink. The lines across the rounded curves were definite, they had been placed there by some slender instrument of punishment. She was shocked by her wave of concupiscence they evoked. Forthrightly, she admitted: "Well, yes I would.

You two seem to have dragged something out of the closet. Don't tell me you'd let me?"

"Ask Griselda, it's her bottom."

"If it would give you pleasure, Ilona. Why, of course you can." Griselda's eyes were limpid pools. But she was a woman bestowing a privilege on another as an equal. "I'm afraid you'd have to tie me though. I can't stand still while. . it happens."

Ilona was annoyed with herself. These two had got under her skin. They were so impregnable, their beautifully svelte exteriors were more than a facade. She was accustomed to shocking others. . she was not even coming close, but they had managed to get her into a dither of desire.

"Why don't you let Griselda give you the Grand Tour?"

Were they playing with her? Perhaps! But what had she to lose! Ilona Paisley said, with some sincerity: "I'd like that. You're really being very kind to a nosey Parker."

She got to her feet.

The damn girl was magic, erotic as all get out. Nothing about her fitted a pattern.

Despite the handcuffs, it was like having the President's wife show you around a bawdy house. Ilona supposed it was the handcuffed wrists and the weaving bottom, walking ahead, that was arousing her responses. She was heatedly aware of them.

These two positively had to be lesbians to reach out and grab her as they did. And the agility! Griselda opened doors and pointed things out with the same dexterity she had employed in serving drinks. Maybe she actually had been handcuffed like this for weeks and weeks?

"There's really only the punishment room and where we sleep." Griselda was faintly apologetic. "And, of course, the dungeon."

"I'd like to see the dungeon."

"It's a bit cold now. I haven't been naughty for a couple of days." Griselda smiled from some remote solitude all her own. "I'm not a bit fond of the dungeon. You're suspecting I'm a masochist but I'm not. And the chains are so heavy."

"Chains?"

"Yes, of course. A girl put in a dungeon is always chained. It's Purely punitive? I mean, it's part of her punishment."

The Publisher looked around in journalistic joy. What a story! The damn place actually was a dungeon. Any medieval monster would have been proud of it. And there were the chains, the cuffs of their shackles open and waiting. . hanging from the stone of the wall. She turned to her guide: "You mean, you get locked in this awful place, and you wear all that hardware on your wrists and ankles?"

"Of course." There was a hint of impatience at so redundant a query. "As I said, I don't enjoy it one bit. But it's a punishment, and a girl's not supposed to enjoy her punishments."

"Take it seriously, don't you!"

"Is there any other way?" There was a hint of reproof.

"I suppose not." Ilona was now having to cope with breasts and pubic hair of which their owner seemed unaware, but which were affecting her breathlessly. Their contours and their colours could not be ignored. Hiding arousal, she enquired: "The other room?"

"Of course. It gets used more often. I don't always deserve the dungeon, y'know.

We go back upstairs."

"You get a kick out of this stuff!" Ilona Paisley gazed around the large bright chamber with an interest only slightly tinged with disapproval. "I mean. . having it. . happen to you?"

"How quaint? your expression? 'Happen to me'. The answer is yes."

"You'd let yourself be fastened in those stocks, or hoisted up on that pulley? And isn't that what they used to call a 'horse', a girl sits on it with her thingummy squashed?"

"Yes, if 'Tonia orders me."

The blasted girl was showing a faintly superior boredom. The Paisley Publishing House felt itself slighted by a nude product of Vassar whose wrists were handcuffed behind a strikingly beautiful back. Ilona's retort was terse: "Suppose I ordered you?"

"No. I'm sorry. But you can always ask 'Tonia? about me, I mean. I'll do whatever she says."

"You are a slave then? Or a masochist?"

"We find such terms offensive, if you don't mind?"

Dammit, she was being talked down to, a plebeian being put in her place. Ilona Paisley had a momentary vision of whipping the pert bare bottom that had such a high opinion of itself. At that moment it would be a most satisfying act. Gruffly, she demanded: "How'd you feel about it if I did ask that girl friend of your's about using you some way?"

"Oh, by all means! I can't promise 'Tonia's answer? Oh, and I should warn you, if I have to experience pain I make the same sounds as any other girl."