I made my first ballgag at 11, using a roller skate strap and a sponge rubber doggie ball. Unfortunately --sighs-- I never got to use it on anyone other than myself. If only I hadn't been so shy (and if only I knew *then* what I know *now*)
I enjoy writing (can you tell?) and I'm also a real life Dominant. I enjoy online and RL teaching and training in self-bondage, bondage and D/s. I also enjoy horses (riding them; watch those dirty minds out there! --winks--) and reading, especially fantasy and science fiction.
. . . and she kept wriggling and squirming, kinda like she was dancing but way different," Courtney described as she licked the last crumbs of her tuna salad sandwich from tiny fingers. Samantha nodded, listening as she filled her mug from the pot on the counter. All through making lunch and then sitting down to eat she'd gently encouraged her daughter to talk about what had gone on when she'd been alone with her slave. Not an interrogation of any kind, just a semi-sort of parental curiosity mingled with that of a teacher.
"It was like she wasn't really feeling the crop any more," she said, sipping her milk, "'Cept right when it landed. Then she'd sorta squeak and squeal. Just not jump or kick or stuff like she did at first."
Again Samantha nodded, rinsing out Courtney's mug from earlier, then pouring another cup of half-coffee/half-heavy cream before adding a spoon of sugar to it. Considering Courtney barely had had time to touch her 'coffee' from before, Samantha didn't think another 'cup' was going to be detrimental. Besides, Courtney was showing a great deal of maturity and responsibility, and this was one way to show her approval of her daughter.
"Thanks Mom!" Courtney piped up in a pleased tone, shy yet flattered at Mom giving her another cup!
"You're welcome baby," Samantha warmly smiled at her daughter. "Enjoy it, though. That's all for today."
Courtney nodded, not at all bothered or sulky by the restriction . . . considering she hadn't ever been allowed coffee before today, getting two cups was special! She took a hesitant sip; the beverage was quite warm and needed blowing off to cool and, well . . . the flavor still took some getting used to. Tiny feet gently swung back and forth quite a bit above the floor as she sat and sipped.
That wasn't all, Samantha had noticed. Throughout the recitation, once Courtney had gotten into it, she'd been unconsciously pressing her little legs together; a light, almost inconspicuous, tensing and shifting of little thighs and hips. In fact, if Samantha hadn't actually looked for reactions from Courtney, she doubted she'd have noticed that at all.
Sitting back down she gazed at her daughter. "So baby . . . what did you think about paddling and cropping your slave?"
Holding her mug between tiny hands Courtney looked very thoughtful. Unlike past conversations with her Mom of similar character, this one had very little, if any, undertones of a cross-examining nature. It was very much as if Mom was asking the questions she posed to help her think. To puzzle and ponder on specific points she might never have, on her own, considered reflecting upon.
"It's . . . it's sorta hard to say Mom," she finally said in a soft voice. "Part of me felt bad, paddling her, cuz I know what that feels like. And it felt weird, too, being the one punishing her, too. Specially since I know what it feels like, inside, to have earned a punishment like that. Sometimes just knowing I've done something so bad I need punishing is worse then the punishment itself."
Samantha just listened, sipping along with her. Courtney softly nibbled her small, full, soft lip before continuing. "But, it also felt . . . awesome," she said in a soft, somewhat wondrous tone, "being the one to punish her. I felt so . . . so . . . big inside at that!"
Courtney was obviously struggling for words to explain her feelings so Samantha helpfully suggested, "Powerful? Commanding? In control?"
Her face lit up as she exclaimed, "Yeah! That's it! Like that!"
"Do you like how that made you feel?" Samantha probed.
Courtney nodded after a few moments. "Uh-huh! With Twerp I did, anyway. Dunno how I'd feel doing that with anyone else. If I'd feel like that with anyone else. I mean, I guess I feel better about it with Twerp cuz I know she has it coming to her."
"Is that why you cropped her as much as you did? Because she deserved it? Had earned it?" Samantha asked.
Courtney's face abruptly turned red as a beet. She stared down into her coffee like there was gold and precious gems somewhere down inside. Samantha patiently waited, said nothing more, and finally Courtney peeked over the rim of her mug, glancing up at her Mom through thick, soot-dusted tawny lashes. "No," she finally whispered.
Samantha tipped her head in a silent invitation to continue.
As Mom didn't seem upset or unhappy at that confession Courtney continued in a low undertone. "At first it was just for punishment. But, after a little bit I started liking seeing her jump, wriggle, squirm and dance. I liked hearing the sounds she was making. Specially with that gag thingy in her mouth. And I wanted to see and hear her do more of all that. It was fun and exciting to do."
Her small jaw dropped as Mom simply nodded. "I'm glad you enjoyed yourself then. You got the punishment out of the way first, and then you had fun with your slave."
Samantha had to struggle not to laugh at Courtney's expression at that. "I did tell you that as long as you're fulfilling your main obligations and duties, there's nothing stopping you from having fun with your slave, didn't I?"
Courtney dumbly nodded, quite taken aback and surprised. Punishing Twerp could be counted as having fun, too? Obviously so, for Mom continued explaining, "Normally a Mistress wouldn't explain in detail to her slave what was going on, or why. Because, being more grown-up, they understand that a Mistress can discipline - like with a paddle or crop - both for punishment and for the Mistress' own pleasure. Simply because she likes doing that to her slave. However, Twerp is brand new, and doesn't know, or understand, that yet. I think it would be a good idea to let her know, when you discipline her in the future, if you're doing that to punish her, or simply because you want to have fun with her."
Wide gray eyes goggled as Courtney blurted, "I can do that? Just paddle her and stuff because I wanna do that?"
At that Samantha did chuckle. Nodding she confirmed, "You sure can baby. Any time you want, in fact. Just as long as you check with me first."
"Oh, wow!" Courtney dreamily murmured, giving Samantha a sudden light chill. It seemed as if Twerp was going to have a rough time for a while!
Then again, she mused, sipping her coffee, from the way Courtney had described things, it didn't seem as if Twerp had responded negatively to what had happened. Nor, for that matter, did Samantha's own, personal observation indicate otherwise. Twerp had been exceptionally aroused, very wet, when she'd seen her.
Which reminded her, once again, of her current conundrum: what to do about, and how far to take, Twerp's training. And now, adding to that poser, was Samantha's observations of her own daughter. She was very aware that a child didn't have to reach puberty, or even start it, to have things 'feel good' to them. Certainly Samantha herself had enjoyed 'feeling good' long before puberty. Even if she, like both Courtney and Twerp, hadn't understand what those feeling truly were. A child's mind wasn't geared to ask questions about things like that. They simply unconsciously accepted, without ever being cognizant they had, that certain things - whether seeing, feeling or thinking about them - 'felt good'.
Courtney certainly wasn't probing things. To her, cropping Twerp had been fun. And, if her little pressed-legged squirms were any indication, that had also felt good to her. But she didn't realize it had felt good, only that it had been fun. And, even if she was subliminally aware of it having felt good, she'd certainly never even think to question why it did, why that might, feel good or be fun. She'd only thought to question if it was OK to do what she had done. Even after the aborted lesson with her slave, Courtney most likely wouldn't recognize signs of her own desire and arousal, although Samantha was positive she'd be sharp enough from now on to spot Twerp's.
"Remember, your first priority is fulfilling your obligations and duties when and where it comes to training Twerp," Samantha reiterated, "but, after that, you can have all the fun with her you like. Within reason," she clarified. "You can't expect to paddle and crop her morning, noon and night when she isn't busy doing tasks or lessons."
Courtney giggled at that, imagining doing just that, picturing the expression on Twerp's face should that happen. Not that she intended to do so, but the daydream sure was fun!
Samantha was at a loss to determine just what to do from this point onwards. Oh, she knew perfectly well what to do in order to simply retrain Twerp back into an obedient, polite, biddable, responsible child. And what to do in order to truly train Twerp as a real, bonafide slave (including, a little voice in the back of her mind whispered, all the sensual and erotic aspects of that training). What she didn't know, hadn't decided or determined yet, was which one of the two to choose, or whether to create a blend of each.
Or what to do if Courtney started getting aroused at being a disciplinarian, at truly being a real Mistress to her slave.
Her musings were interrupted by the front door bell chiming. Courtney jerked; looked paralyzed, resembling a fawn trapped in blazing headlights in the middle of an expressway, unsure whether to freeze or bolt. Huge dusky eyes cut to the basement door, and Samantha clearly understood her thoughts as if reading her mind.
Putting her mug down and rising to her feet Samantha calmed her daughter. "Don't worry baby. No one knows she's down there. They can't possibly know, or tell, that she is. Everything's perfectly fine."
Courtney brightly blushed, not realizing her panic had been that transparent. Then she sheepishly grinned, nervously giggled. "Sorry Mom."
Warmly smiling Samantha ruffled Courtney's long, thick, silky, honey blonde tresses. "It's all right baby. I understand. I sweated the first few times when I had 'guests' downstairs and you were old enough to start walking around."
A louder giggle this time, a wide grin.
Courtney sipped her coffee, much more relaxed, as Mom walked off to answer the door. It was, she thought, real silly to panic. And it was very exciting, too, knowing Twerp was locked up downstairs the way she was! Courtney squirmed, picturing in her head just that image. Twerp all cuffed up and locked in that little cage! A real prisoner, no joke or fake! Heck, she'd die, unable to ever free herself, if they just left her like that!
Courtney almost grunted, feeling like she'd been punched in the tummy as that thought hit her. Hard. As, for the first time, Courtney truly realized that Twerp's life, literally as well as figuratively, lay in her hands. Well, Mom's and Courtney's hands, anyway. But that didn't lessen the impact one little bit. Twerp was utterly dependent on the two of them for everything. Including her very own life.
That was, in some ways, a very scary feeling. Not that they would, of course, just forget about Twerp being down there. But . . . if they did . . . there wasn't a blessed thing Twerp could do to save herself.
And no one would ever know.
But, for all that it was, indubitably, a scary feeling, accepting that for the reality it was was also terribly . . . something. Something else other then scary. A something that made her insides shiver. Get warm and tingly glowy. Kinda like when she'd been paddling and cropping Twerp. Kinda, just not quite the same. Different, but Courtney couldn't figure out just what that difference was, only that it was there.
And that it felt . . . nice!
She still hadn't puzzled that out when Mom came back, holding an opaque blue plastic grocery bag in one hand. Something was in there, she could tell, seeing the bulky outline. She didn't have to wait long for her curiosity to be sated, though. "Let's get you ready to feed your slave, OK?" Samantha said with a smile. "But first, I've got something here I think both of you will like."
It was utterly soundless in here. Silent as a tomb, although Sasha shied away from that simile after the first time she'd pictured it. She couldn't hear a single noise that she, herself, didn't produce. The susurration of her breathing sounded loud as a bellows to her although she sensed that, mere inches away, that soft gentle sound was swallowed up like a little birthday candle in the depths of ebony space. The slow, steady throb of her heart sounded like the rhythmic pounding of tympani in her ears. Her pulse was even audible, a gentle background hiss like that of a seashell held against an ear. The times she'd shifted about, seeking to get comfortable, the chime of the locks and rings at her cuffs had seemed shockingly loud and jarring.
She hadn't thought she could get comfortable. To start with, she hated lying on her tummy. Her side was her preferred position, followed by her back. But never on her tummy. But her back was right out. There was no way she could possibly lay on her back, not with her arms held behind there, secured by cuffed wrists. That would be painful! Lying on her side wouldn't be much better, and for the same reason. And that was even assuming she could, somehow, manage to wriggle and squirm onto her side, let alone her back. There really wasn't all that much room to either side of her.
And then there were her aches. Granted, far fewer of those then she'd had when fastened to that pole thing, with her arms all the way overhead, her legs spread wide and most - when not all - of her weight supported by her cuffed wrists. Most of those aches had faded into a dull, distant, mild soreness. Especially her wrists, which now felt lots better. Her shoulders, however, still ached quite a bit, and being positioned as they were due to her arms being confined behind her wasn't helping ease that ache at all, just changed the way the joints and muscles throbbed. What she wanted to do most of all was move; to be able to stretch, to work out the achy stiff soreness. Just the sheer luxury of being able to move! What she could do was little more then fidget and wriggle.
And then there was this room. Sasha didn't know why it affected her like it did. She only knew that it did. And that actually being caged was much more intense then just picturing that. She was far too exhausted and drained - physically, mentally and emotionally - to struggle and attempt escape. But, even if she had been in peak performance Sasha wouldn't have even bothered trying. The very room seemed to emanate the raw, sheer aura of unyielding inescapable confinement. Being cuffed and caged only exacerbated, only amplified, that sensation.
And then there were her feelings. One in particular. One she couldn't ignore, couldn't stop. Didn't know if it could be stopped and, even if it could, how to stop it.
Sasha had expected that, once she was left alone, once things stopped happening, being done to her, once she caught her breath and composure, she'd settle down. That that tingly, warm, achy tightness in her tummy would cool. Would ease, fade then vanish. It always had, before. When she'd banister rubbed and pressed, and even when she'd had all those incredibly vivid daydreams all this week, ever since she'd discovered these hidden, underground set of rooms.
But, although it had eased quite a bit, it had never really truly gone away. Even now, even after all this time (and Sasha had no idea if half an hour or the rest of the day had passed; time seemed to stand still in here, with her being this helpless and alone) she was very aware of that lingering, persistent tingling. It was rather like an itch. But an itch inside her. Real down low in her tummy. At her pussy, too, she thought, soft cheeks growing hot both at mentally using the new word for her cootchie in addition to the realization just where that itch seemed to be located.
A niggling, dogged itch that she couldn't reach and couldn't scratch. Couldn't ease, and didn't know how to ease even if she could reach it.
And then there were her thoughts. Which, in many ways, were worse then that tormenting itchiness. And just as implacable and unavoidable, too.
First and foremost, no matter how hard she wanted to deny it - and she tried very hard to do just that, and miserably failed - Sasha knew everything that had happened - was still happening - had been her own fault. She desperately wanted to place the blame on someone else, on anyone else, on anything other then her. Just like she'd been doing for almost a year now. But no matter how hard she tried she kept coming back to the same horrible truth. It was like being at the bottom of a deep conical pit of sand; no matter which way you tried climbing up and out, you just kept slipping and slithering right back down to the bottom. And the bottom, in this case, was that Sasha, and Sasha alone, was responsible for her predicament.
If she hadn't gone sneaking into these rooms, she wouldn't be in trouble for doing that. If she hadn't been so awful and nasty to her cousin, if she hadn't deceived, lied and blackmailed, Aunt Samantha might not have decided to take the extreme action she had. And Sasha wouldn't have found herself made a slave, the literal property and possession of her little cousin, with utterly no say in what happened, absolutely no rights at all.
The fact that Aunt Samantha thought so poorly of Sasha and her behavior that she chose this punishment made her want to just shrivel up and fade away. It wasn't as if her Aunt had just thrown her hands up in disgust, giving up on Sasha as a lost cause and not worth her time and effort, but it felt very close to that. Yet, even as miserable and despondent as Sasha felt at the moment, she couldn't seem to shake the feeling that there was more to Aunt Samantha's decisions and plans for Sasha then just simple - if somewhat extreme, excessive and outre - punishment.
She didn't want this. She didn't want what was happening. Not at all! Yet she could still vividly recall Aunt Samantha' expression as she stared into her eyes. Clearly recall those whispered words. 'Besides, little slave, you and I both know you want this. Being tied up. Being helpless. Having no choice, being made to do things. You want all of that. And more. Even the things you don't have any idea that exist. Yet. You can't get this, any of this, out of your mind. You think about it all day, dream about it all night, don't you.'
But she didn't really want that!
Sasha was feeling very confused and bewildered, on top of everything else she was feeling. It was one thing to daydream about some of this stuff. And quite another to have it actually happen to you. And against your will, at that! Especially, dog gone it, when she might very well have volunteered for some of this if she'd just been asked!
Her little, naked, cuffed body gently wriggled as she pondered and considered everything that had happened to her. And all the things that might happen. She tried to get comfy and just relax, but that lingering, niggling, itchy tingle just wouldn't go away. Sleek little hips, of their own volition, gently lifted and pressed down, very lightly rocked and shifted as her body mindlessly sought to ease that peripheral tingling itch.
She was a seething bundle of commingled emotions: embarrassment, humiliation, fear, dread, outrage, anger, mortification, shame, anxiety, fear, horror, shock . . . she'd never before felt so much, so intensely, at one time. Her thoughts shifted from one subject to the next like a wild bird frantically flying in a small cage, wings battering at the bars.
There was anger and affront at this gross miscarriage of justice . . . if one could call this punishment sentence that. This just wasn't fair! Not at all! How dare they do something like this! If Aunt Samantha really thought Sasha's possible little lapse of good judgment was wrong, surely there were better, more proper, more appropriate ways of dealing with that then treating her this way! Didn't they know how wrong this was? When Mom found out about this there'd be heck to pay! That didn't even take into account what kind of trouble they'd be in if, or when, Sasha told the authorities!
That was innate, instinctive defiance, sassiness and bravado talking. But it wasn't talking very bold and brassy at the moment. Closer to a murmur. More accurately, on sober reflection, a barely audible, unconvinced whisper. Because, no matter how strongly she tried to mutinously protest the unfairness and unjustness of this all, that they simply couldn't do this to her because it wasn't allowed . . .
. . . the locked cuffs securing her wrists and ankles, the locked metal cage surrounding her, the utter silence of this locked room . . . all of that belied her protests, made them nothing more then paper tigers in a raging blast furnace.
They could do this . . . because they already had. And as long as she remained confined down here, the only two people Sasha could protest to, appeal to, petition to, weren't very likely to have a sympathetic ear to any complaints and disputes.
Snuffling back a tear Sasha shifted again, refusing to lose the war but, at the moment, surrendering this specific skirmish. She wasn't about to give either of them the satisfaction of caving in, oh no! She'd show them she was made of sterner stuff then that!
Darn it, why did Aunt Samantha have to come home so early and spoil everything!? Sasha had been tremendously enjoying herself, and she hadn't been harming anyone or anything, after all! It had been ever-so-much fun making her daydreams seem and feel more real by tying herself to that pole thing!
Of their own volition her daydreams started playing again in her mind, until Sasha became conscious she'd started thinking again about them. Then she gently nibbled her full, soft, warm pouty lower lip, deeply thoughtful and reflective. She hadn't really considered it at first, not with so much going on at the time but, now that she thought over things, laying here like this was extremely close to some of her most intense daydreams.
Although those daydreams hadn't been specific or detailed, there had been similar generalities. She'd been helpless. Unable to move, resist or escape. She'd either been in undies or, in the more intense ones, totally undressed and naked. Secured someplace, all alone, where she couldn't be seen, heard or found. Waiting. Nervously, apprehensively, tremulously waiting. Only able to wait, unable to run or flee. Knowing, without being told, that once her 'captor' returned . . .
That nibbling grew more as she thought about that part. Again the thoughts and images hadn't been specific or clear but . . . she did have some vague ideas about what would 'happen'. Like, they'd finish stripping her naked while she was helpless to protest or stop that. And touch her, again while she was helpless to protest or stop that. And not just simply touch her, but touch her in very distinct places. Her boobies. Her cootc . . . pussy.
Her no-touch places. Places that were wrong to be touched there. Places she wasn't supposed to be touched. But her captor did, anyway.
Those daydreams made her feel funny, in several different ways. Naughty for even thinking stuff like that, picturing that happening, even sorta wanting that to happen, even if just in daydreams. Kinda scary imagining that, being that helpless, being unable to stop being stripped naked, from being touched those places. Yet exciting, too, in an odd, new kinda feeling.
Sasha knew she shouldn't be touched there, shouldn't let others see or touch her there. Hadn't Mom said that? And her teachers, too? Hadn't Health Class said so?
But, still, for all that, it had been a wickedly naughty-scary-exciting sensation daydreaming just that happening.
Huge eyes rounded to enormous stunned emerald pools. Deep intense tingles abruptly rippled and coursed through her. Almost against her will Sasha looked around. Really looked around as she focused on things. In almost every way this was exactly like some of her daydreams. She'd been helplessly stripped naked, unable to prevent that from happening. Was quite securely confined at wrists and ankles by locked leather cuffs, and was still naked. Incapable of moving, resisting or escaping. All she could do was lay there and helplessly wait.
But, unlike her daydreams, most certainly so, she didn't have to speculate on what being touched and played with in her no-touch places would be like.
For she'd already been touched there.
And it had been every bit as embarrassing, humiliating, shameful and mortifying as she'd envisioned that being. And her helpless impotence had only intensified that a hundred-fold.
But . . . that hadn't been all she'd felt. By no means.
Even now, in the total privacy of her own mind, Sasha sternly shied away from admitting, even to herself, that being touched there felt nice.
More then nice. Much more. Much, much, much more then 'just nice'. Even through and past the embarrassment and humiliation she couldn't ignore the intense bursts of shivery, tingly, fiery jolts that rocked and raced through her at those touches. Like nothing she'd ever felt before. Didn't know could exist. Drove her nuts and crazy inside, waiting, yearning, hungering for more and yet more again. Until she couldn't think, couldn't reason. Could only feel.
That had been momentous enough, shocking enough. But what added to that, like hosing down a bonfire with a stream of gasoline, was the expressions on her aunt's and her cousin's faces.
Courtney's face, in particular. She'd looked so pleased, so delighted. Like she was looking at something uniquely precious, exquisitely priceless. Was looking that way at Sasha. Because she was touching and playing with her.
Because of how Sasha was responding.
There was something even more mystifying and befuddling to Sasha. Given the circumstances Sasha certainly wasn't surprised that Courtney had sought revenge. Heck, had the situation been reversed, Sasha assuredly would have done just that! It was patently obvious, right from the beginning, that Courtney reveled in Sasha's misfortune and doom. That she thirsted for vengeance and positively was going to slake that craving. Her gleeful, gloating expression certainly proved that, as did her fiendish paddling and cropping of Sasha. Gagging Sasha had been just icing on the cake.
Yet, for all her desires for seeking revenge, Courtney had shocked and surprised Sasha. Sasha would have gloated seeing Courtney hanging from that pole. Would have relished watching Courtney struggle, cry and plead. Would probably have left her all day, just as Courtney had promised to do to Sasha.
But, for all of her very valid reasons for revenge, Courtney had been concerned. Caring. Had taken care of Sasha when she hurt. Was so tired and exhausted she was past tears and sobbing. Had been careful and cautious, patient with Sasha when walking her, understanding how wobbly and weak she'd been. Had praised Sasha for being good and obedient. Praise that had, inexplicably, made Sasha feel warm inside, gently flushed with mysterious pleasure and pride. Had stood up to Aunt Samantha when she'd been furious at Sasha, correcting her Mom and defending Sasha. When she could have just kept mum and enjoyed watching Sasha get punished yet again.
Sleek little shifting hips grew more restless. Sasha gave a moan of frustration, wanting nothing more at the moment then the freedom to banister press, for that achy tingling was growing again. Just from remembering all that.
Then she froze. Well, most of her did, anyway. Her hips had a mind and will of their own, and pretty much refused to remain motionless.
She . . . she couldn't . . . she couldn't really want this? Could she?
Sasha's mind was in too much of a turmoil to truly reason on that. But she wasn't so befuddled to mistake two things. She was tingling every bit as badly as she'd ever had before when she'd daydreamed, even while knowing this wasn't any fantasy.
And she was wet again.
Her soft smooth cheeks ignited at finally becoming conscious of that warm slipperiness at her pussy. At remembering the last time that had happened. And how Aunt Samantha and Courtney made her feel as if burning up inside with tingles.
She'd only thought she been confused and baffled before. Now she really knew what that was like!
Somehow Sasha had actually managed to doze. That hadn't been easy, for those tingles had never completely cooled off. Neither, once it had started, had her wetness. She couldn't be certain, of course, but Sasha was a bit dismayed at that. It was entirely possible, she thought, that, as long as she remained cuffed, remained helpless like this, those tingles might never really go away.
As long as she remained awake, remained conscious and aware, it was impossible to ignore anything. There was no way to overlook having her wrists cuffed behind her back. No way to ignore she was naked, laying tummy down in a locked cage. Impossible to overlook being held in this locked, soundproofed room, not when that utter silence ponderously weighed down on her like a weight. And, as long as she couldn't ignore any of that, it was impossible to get that deep-in-the-tummy achiness, those jolting little tingles, to ease, fade and vanish.
And as long as she continued having that deep-in-the-tummy achiness, those jolting little tingles, it was virtually impossible to just close her eyes, ignore them and drift to sleep. Had Sasha not been as exhausted and depleted of resources as she was, most likely she'd never have managed even dozing. But, she was, and, somehow, she succeeded nodding off into a drowsy twilight.
She was dimly aware, deep in her subconscious, of the door opening behind her. Heavy lids groggily fluttered as the interior lights gradually, over a few seconds, brightened from their dim luminescence. She softly moaned in mild discomfort as she roused, sleepily blinked.
"Did you have a nice nap?" Sasha heard her cousin cheerily pipe up in her high, melodious voice from behind her. She stiffened at that tone, defiance and outrage starting to bubble up inside her. How dare Courtney sound so merry and amused!?
"Don't bother answering," Courtney stated before Sasha could open her mouth for a rebuking retort. "You're still not permitted to speak. And I need to make sure you really understand about that, too," Courtney said as she walked around the cage, standing mere inches away in front of Sasha.
Sasha's mouth opened anyway. But not to make any sort of scathing response. In fact, not to say anything at all. No, the real reason her mouth opened - well, more accurately, her small jaw drop in astonishment - was because of what she saw.
Lying as she was Sasha couldn't crane her head back to look up. About as far up as she could see was her cousin's little knees. But what she could see had stunned her. For Courtney wasn't wearing her white cotton ankle socks and sneaks. What she was wearing . . .
. . . Sasha gaped, staring at the shiny black, brightly gleaming, leather boots right before her rounded eyes. Boots that went all the way up to just below Courtney's small knees. Heeled boots at that, even if the heels were only an inch tall and were rather wide at the base.
"It's not that remaining silent is the exception," Courtney continued, seeming to pay no attention to Sasha's surprise and shock. "It's the rule. You're never to speak any more, unless and until given permission by me. I'm not telling you to keep quiet until it's OK to speak. You're never to speak again unless and until I say you can."
Sasha swallowed at that. She hadn't been looking at it that way. She'd been looking at it quite differently. Like having her Mom tell her to hush up and be quiet for a while. Looking at it as if having to stay quiet was a temporary, now-and-then sort of thing. But it was a very distinct contrast, indeed, being told to stay quiet at times compared to never talking again; that speaking would be a treat, rather then a right or expectation!
She couldn't see Courtney's expression, and right now she badly wanted to see what that looked like. To try and gain some insight as to what Courtney was thinking and feeling. But she just couldn't tip her head back any further then it was, and unfortunately Courtney's knees weren't telling her a single thing.
"I told you this morning I was gonna leave you hanging like that all day," Courtney continued. "That was wrong of me to say. I was mad and angry and hurt, and I lost my temper and said I was gonna do something. And didn't do it after all. I'm glad I didn't, because that would have harmed you, and a Mistress never wants to harm her slave."
Sasha lightly shivered, not missing the slight added stress to 'harmed' and 'harm' nor, for that matter, Courtney emphasizing the words 'Mistress' and 'slave'.
"But from now on, if I tell you I'm going to do something, that's exactly what's going to happen. And if I tell you what the con . . . consequences," Courtney stumbled over that word, carefully pronouncing it, "of a slave's disobedience will be, if you disobey, that's exactly what's gonna happen. No ifs, ands or buts about it. Understood?"
Sasha weakly nodded, licking lips that felt terribly dry all of a sudden.
"Good slave!" Courtney praised, pleased that she'd nodded rather then answering out loud. Then returned to that firm, stern tone which, coming from such a tiny girl and considering her fluting voice should have sounded absurd yet was anything but comical, "A slave isn't even to say 'Thank you'. A smile will be just fine in place of that. And I mean this Twerp: say a single word and I'll gag you again. It doesn't matter if you just forget, or whatever the reason is. Say a word, make any peep at all, and you'll be gagged quicker then you can blink."
Sasha swallowed again, having yet another butterfly convention in her tummy. They really started partying down moments later as Courtney added, "You'll be gagged lots anyway. Both to help train you to remain silent, help you remember that. And because I just like seeing you gagged. I don't need any reason to gag my slave - or do anything else, either - other then I just wanna do something."
Sharp little tremors rippled through Sasha as she lay there. Naked, helplessly cuffed, locked in a cage, lying on her tummy in front of her little cousin. Her words hitting her like hammer blows.
Courtney seemed finished speaking. For now, anyway. She waited a few moments, just looking down at her slave, before turning and walking directly away from Sasha, the heels of her boots making a soft 'tock' on the cream and beige tiles of the floor. She padded over to another cage atop which, Sasha noticed, a small covered tray that hadn't been there before was now sitting.
Then Sasha's jaw dropped open again. Much further then before.
As she finally got to see all of her little cousin.
Courtney's long, mid-back length, thick yet silky, slightly wavy honey blondetresses had been carefully braided into a thick plait down the middle of her back. But that wasn't what stunned Sasha, oh no. That was left to what she was wearing.
A soft, supple, black leather skirt surrounded her tiny little hips. A short skirt, at that, reaching down only a little bit past mid-thigh. Her top was gleaming black leather, too, a sleeveless vest that exposed her midriff and tummy, closed together at the front by crisscrossed leather laces that, even when firmly snugged, left the front of the vest open a little, revealing a line of pale, creamy smooth skin. Courtney never wore anything like that! Her Mom wouldn't let her! Heck, that was one of the things that Sasha had viciously, maliciously teased Courtney about! That she was still such a little girl that she couldn't wear more grown-up things like Sasha could.
Then Sasha noticed the thin, gold linked chain that circled those little hips. Hanging from the left was a small ring of keys, while hanging from the right . . .
Sasha swallowed. Hard. Seeing a riding crop fastened there.
Courtney simply picked the tray up then carried it over before carefully setting it on the floor just to the side of Sasha's cage, up by her head. "This afternoon is going to be real busy," she informed as she gingerly knelt in front of Sasha's cage, watchful of the hard tiles on her knees. "There's still a lot you need to be shown and taught before tonight. Plus I wanna play with my slave more later, too," she said with a happy, eager grin of anticipation. "But my slave needs feeding first, before all that."
Feeding? Food? Sasha's tummy abruptly rumbled. She hadn't realized just how empty her tummy was, how hungry she was, until Courtney mentioned food. But, now that she had, Sasha felt quite ravenous, her tummy feeling like a huge, hollow empty ball. But how the heck was she supposed to eat like this?
She found out just that very answer a few moments later, as Courtney removed the key ring, sorted through the keys there until finding the one she sought, then tiny fingers inserted it into a small lock Sasha wasn't even aware was there. That wasn't really surprising, since the lock was built right into the frame of the cage itself. Once the lock was open Courtney gently tugged the front of the cage, right in front of Sasha's face, lowering a section of grill and creating an opening about a foot wide and six inches deep. Far too small to wriggle out of, even if Sasha hadn't still been cuffed as she was.
Lifting the tray top off Courtney set it to the side, then picked up the empty plate sitting on the tray, inserting it through the opened grill and placing it right under Sasha's nose. The next plate she picked up wasn't empty. Sitting atop that one were pieces of grilled cheese. Eighteen inch by inch pieces, to be exact. Sasha's mouth started watering no sooner did that delicious aroma hit her little nose, even as her face hotly, furiously flamed guessing what was supposed to happen.
Again mutinous defiance reared up inside her. In addition to everything else, she was supposed to eat like an animal? No way! No way was she going to give Courtney that satisfaction! That victory!
Except that Courtney didn't appear taunting, gloating or demeaning. Rather, she looked shyly, quietly pleased, as if this was something precious to her, too, rather then another way to humiliate Sasha. "I made it myself," she softly declared. "It should still be nice and hot," she said as she placed the first little square on the inside plate, within easy reach of Sasha's mouth.
Her tummy rumbled again. Grilled cheese, especially mozzarella grilled cheese, was a favorite of Sasha's. And a piece, still piping hot, lay just at her lips. She didn't even have to struggle or look silly trying to reach it. Literally, all she had to do was open her mouth and lip it right up. It had even been sectioned up small enough to make it bite-sized.
"Go ahead. Eat. I know you must be hungry," Courtney gently encouraged, not in any way sounding disparaging or mocking.
Silently muttering Sasha gingerly lipped up the piece, a bit wary in case it was too hot. Then almost groaned, eyes closing in bliss, as she carefully chewed. It was just the way she liked it: thick with mozzarella, the cheese melty and gooey, the bread just a bit crunchy. It was surprisingly very delicious. All the more so if Courtney really did make it herself. Exceptionally surprising because, to the best of Sasha's knowledge, Courtney wasn't allowed to cook. Use the microwave, yes, but not the stove or oven. Not on her own, anyway.
That had been another bitter bone of contention between her Aunt and Courtney and herself. Sasha had gotten used to cooking for herself, making her own meals, whenever she wanted and whatever she wanted. But Aunt Samantha wouldn't let her cook. Not even scrambled eggs! Sheesh! Nuke them, yes, but not stove-cook them. So, unless Courtney was lying about this, stodgy old Aunt Samantha had finally unbent enough to let Courtney cook something on her own.
She hadn't even swallowed her first bite before Courtney had daintily placed a second one right where the first piece had been. It seemed as if she wasn't going to tease or torment Sasha for her food. Speaking of which, this sure wasn't plain old oatmeal, bland and cold like they said her food would be. Sasha gloated inside. She just knew they hadn't been serious about that!
Swallowing she picked up the second, tummy growling and insistent for more. There was a momentary pause in her chewing as a thought abruptly popped into her head. How, exactly, had Aunt Samantha put that? Oh yes. That might be cold, plain oatmeal for the rest of the summer if a slave keeps being disobedient.
Was she having a yummy grilled cheese for lunch, not because they hadn't been serious, but because Sasha had been obedient?
She pondered that as she ate the next few pieces, Courtney seeming quite delighted to simply remain kneeling and placing each one down for Sasha to eat. Was this their way to show they were happy with Sasha being docile and acquiescent? Sasha wasn't positive and, in addition, wasn't sure if she wanted to simply roll over and play dead for them. Selling her freedom and independence, as it were, for nicer, better treatment.
Then again, that didn't help explain the gentle warmth in her tummy at thinking she had been pleasing, nor that self-same warmth at the quiet, possessive pride Sasha saw in Courtney's eyes.
She'd just finished the last piece before licking her lips. That had been sooooo good! Her tummy felt nice and full. Neither too much nor too little. Just enough for satisfied repletion. That shy possessive smile had never left Courtney's face, neither had the gleam fade from her huge grey eyes. Once Sasha was done the last piece Courtney removed the plate from inside the cage. A good china plate, too, and not a cheapy paper disposable one either, Sasha finally noticed. Then her eyes abruptly snapped and raged, indignant outrage blazing in them as she saw Courtney lift up something else from her tray.
A bottle. A baby bottle! One of those plastic, bent-angled ones. Filled with what looked like chocolate milk. Not that Sasha was going to find out, because she flat out refused to drink from that! How dare Courtney!!
That blazing, furiously raging fire, however, virtually extinguished in an instant as Courtney spoke. There was no suggestion of gloating, no indication of malicious, tormenting glee in her voice. Neither was there any trace of apology in her words. She simply and plainly explained, "I couldn't use a sippy cup or much of anything else for your milk. So it was either this or have you lap from a bowl. I'm not using a baby bottle to embarrass you. If I wanted to do that I'd've made you eat and drink from little doggy dishes."
Sasha still didn't want to drink from that, having to nurse and suckle like a little baby. Courtney might think that wouldn't be embarrassing, but she wasn't the one doing the drinking!
Still . . . it was chocolate milk. Cold chocolate milk too, she realized, seeing the beads of dew on the sides.
Courtney carefully inserted the bottle through the cage grill, then delicately positioned the rubber nipple just at Sasha's lips. "I made the hole bigger, so it'd be easier to drink from. So be careful," she warned.
Sasha felt . . . she wasn't quite sure how to describe it. Like if she drank from that it would be so demeaning, so babyish and humiliating. Like she couldn't drink on her own and needed being bottle fed or something.
Then again . . . she couldn't drink on her own. Not like this, not as she was. And she was thirsty, and cold chocolate milk would taste sooooo good. And this was heaps better then having to try lapping it from a bowl, even she had to admit that to herself.
But she could have eaten and drank if they'd just uncuffed her and taken her out of this cage! So, why leave her like this and make her go through all this indignity just to have lunch? What was the point? Sasha was positive there had to be a reason, she was certain of that, but she couldn't puzzle it out at the moment. About the only thing she could conclude, with almost perfect instinctive clarity and acceptance, was this hadn't been done for the express purpose of humiliating and embarrassing her.
Courtney just patiently kept the nipple tip right at her mouth. She didn't order her to drink like she had both times before with the sippy cup. Nor did she coax and cajole. She'd said what she had to say, it seemed, and now it was up to Sasha to decide to drink or not.
Her face heated up when, at last, she gently pursed her full, soft pouty lips around the rubbery tip. It felt . . . weird . . . doing that. Even weirder to draw back and suckle. Then almost drowned when a tide of chocolate milk - and oh, it was so icy cold and good! - flooded her mouth.
"Be careful!" Courtney gently chided, holding the bottle back until Sasha stopped sputtering. "I said it came out easy." Once Sasha swallowed and relaxed Courtney placed the nipple back to her lips again.
Oh yes, this was a very weird feeling indeed. Sasha closed her eyes, so she didn't have to look at Courtney as she - carefully this time - drew back on the tip and suckled. It wasn't the same as sucking on a straw. Close, but not the same, not with feeling that nipple in her mouth. Slowly, steadily, rhythmically she nursed, swallowing after each suckle. It felt oddly . . . comforting. Calming. Relaxing. Until, at last, the bottle noisily gurgled as she sucked in the last of the milk.
Courtney gently drew the bottle back once it was empty. Sasha felt the nipple leave her mouth, and she peeped, then, up at Courtney. A sudden rush of gentle warmth flooded through her at Courtney's expression. Shyly pleased. Quietly delighted. Possessively proud.
"Lessons'll start in half an hour," Courtney informed as she placed the now-empty baby bottle on the tray before replacing the lid. "I'll be back for my slave then. Rest until I return." Tiny hands lifted the grill door back up, firmly closing and relocking it. Gracefully standing up, her tiny figure fluidly moving, showing clear evidence at her skill in gymnastics, Courtney got to her feet, then leaned over and picked up the tray with both hands. Without another word, without any further glance down at Sasha, Courtney simply walked over to the door, opened it, stepped out and firmly closed it behind her.
Leaving Sasha alone again inside the cell room.
Lessons? she thought. What did she mean by 'lessons'? Sasha had no idea what she meant by lessons No guess what they might entail. In any event, it didn't sound good, no no no. Not that it made any difference, because one thing Sasha was very slowly, very reluctantly starting to understand, was that whether she liked something or not, wanted something or not, if they chose to do something, that something would happen, no matter what. And no matter how Sasha felt about it.
One thing for sure, this was going to be the fastest thirty minutes Sasha had ever had the misfortune to experience.
No sooner had she closed the door behind her then Courtney loudly exhaled. "Phew!" She leaned back against the cool wood-paneled door, then ever so slowly slid downwards until her tiny firm rump hit the carpet. Somehow she'd managed to get through all that without a hitch. Which wasn't too shabby at all, considering she'd only had about 15 minutes of intensive rehearsal with Mom.
She almost envied Twerp. After all, she'd gotten to rest quite a bit. Unlike Courtney. She'd barely finished a quick lunch before things started to get very busy.
Mom had no sooner come back with the mystery bag when off they both went to Courtney's bedroom. 'To change' Mom had said, which had only further spiked Courtney's curiosity. 'I think we need to start setting the proper "mood" and "atmosphere",' Mom had said as they walked together upstairs to her room. Once inside Courtney had gotten quite a shock, she must have looked real silly because Mom started chuckling at her expression. Because as soon as they walked inside Mom started taking things out of that mystery bag.
As she sat there, leaning against the door, Courtney's thoughts went back to just after lunch, replaying everything again in her mind.
One after another Mom removed the contents of the bag, laying them out on Courtney's bed.
A black leather skirt with matching top. And black leather knee-high boots. With heels!
Mom would never ever let her wear anything like that! Said it wasn't 'appropriate' for a girl her age. And neither were heels although, with them, it was more out of concern for her health. Mom believed that wearing heels at her age wasn't good for her muscles, joints, bones or posture and so wouldn't let her have anything with heels. Even itsy-bitsy heels. Unless it was for a short time and for something special, like a wedding or something.
As for that skirt and top, hooooo! No way!! Her dresses couldn't have side slits any further up then just below the bottom of her knees, and skirts had to be at least knee length. And this was way shorter then that! And they were leather, too!
"I remember Mrs. Thornberg saying something about Amber having outgrown some of her things," Mom told her. "So I called to see if they still had these." Courtney knew whom she was talking about, too. Amber went to the same school as Courtney, attended the same class, having been held back a grade last year. She also knew how Mom felt about how 'permissive' Mrs. Thornberg was regarding how Amber dressed. Mom didn't approve. Nope, not at all. Why, Mrs. Thornberg even let Amber wear make up!
Courtney had thought Mom was gonna wig out the first time she'd seen Amber in this exact same outfit. She'd been incensed! But she somehow kept her temper and didn't say anything to them. But, ever since Mrs. Thornberg had started letting Amber 'show her independence' Mom didn't allow Courtney to play with her. Said she was a 'bad influence'.
Yet, now here was that very outfit that had set Mom off like a bomb, and Courtney looked at her with an extremely puzzled yet curious expression.
"Slip into these sweetheart," Samantha said, holding out the skirt and top. "Let's see how they fit."
"Oooooo-K Mom," she hesitantly replied, taking both from her.
Samantha smiled. "It's OK baby. I normally don't approve of children your age wearing clothing like this, as you well know. But . . . this isn't a 'normal' situation."
Courtney toed off her sneaks then, lifting one tiny foot up at a time, peeled off her white cotton ankle socks. "It isn't?" she asked.
"No baby. It isn't. These are for a very special purpose and circumstance. For when you're with Twerp. Trust me on this sweetheart. The effect you'll make on your slave wearing these will leave a very good impression on her. You remember what I've told you about clothes?"
Courtney nodded as she skinned out of her denim cutoffs and top, not at all embarrassed, or even thinking twice, about undressing with Mom there. She certainly did remember. Mom had been very patient and understanding, carefully explaining her reasons. "You said that kids my age don't really understand the power of clothes. Of suggestive dress. That wearing certain styles and kinds of clothes - makeup and excessive jewelry, too - is sorta like sending an invitation. And we're not really old enough, or mature and experienced enough, to know how to handle things if we get an 'answer' to that invitation. That being modest isn't that we're being prudes, dorks, nerds or geeks. Being modest is just a way to keep people from paying unwanted and inappropriate attention to our bodies. That we can still dress nice, still dress with style but with safety, too."
"Very good sweetheart!" Samantha said with warm, deep approval. "That's absolutely right."
Courtney really didn't understand all of that as she repeated, virtually verbatim, what Mom had told her before. Which made her think that, if she couldn't comprehend everything when her Mom was trying very hard to make it understandable, maybe Mom had a point about her not being old enough to conceive how clothes had power and could draw bad attention to herself. Attention she wouldn't know how to handle. Besides, Mom never lied to her. Never just gave her an answer because she was in a hurry, or didn't care, or just didn't want to deal with the issue. So if Mom had been that patient, that detailed, maybe she really did know what she was talking about.
And, even if Courtney felt Mom was way out and wrong, she still wouldn't disobey her and wear things she didn't allow.
Unlike Sasha had done, with that swimsuit.
"So, what does this have to do with Twerp?" she shrewdly asked, carefully looking at the skirt before stepping into it and slipping it up slender little legs. She couldn't help a little shiver at the texture and scent, so drastically unlike anything she'd worn before.
"Well, this is a very suggestive outfit. Which is why I'd never permit you to wear it outdoors. For any reason. However, what it would suggest to most anyone else is quite different then the implication it will have on Twerp."
It wasn't a perfect fit. The waist was a bit loose. It wasn't so much that Amber was a big girl, as much as Courtney was quite a tiny petite doll of a child. "What will it suggest to Twerp?" she asked.
Samantha came over, checking the size. "This should be fine for now. I'll take it in a bit tonight, so it fits better. As to what it will suggest to Twerp, when she sees you in this it will only emphasize that you're her Mistress. And she's your slave."
"Really? Kewl!" Courtney delighted burbled.
"Yes. Really," Samantha indulgently smiled. "She won't even realize it, either. Not consciously, anyway."
Courtney looked at the vest thing closely, not quite sure how it went on. It didn't take her sharp mind more then a few moments to figure it out, however, and soon she had it draped over her chest. It took a little bit to lace the front closed, and she grew a bit frustrated as she tugged them. "What's the matter baby?" Samantha asked.
"It won't close all the way!" she grumbled, annoyed.
"It's not supposed to sweetheart. Here," Samantha waved her daughter over then, once Courtney was standing in front of her she carefully tugged the laces, evenly adjusting them all the way up.
Courtney tipped her head all the way forward, intently watching. "Is my skin supposed to show?"
Samantha nodded. "Yes, it is. The way it looks now is how it should look. Want to see how it looks on you?"
Her head rapidly bobbing with eagerness and curiosity Courtney blurted, "Uh-huh!! I sure do!"
Chuckling, Samantha motioned to the mirror hanging at the back of Courtney's bedroom door. "Go take a peek then."
Literally hop-skipping over Courtney raced on tiny bare feet over to the mirror. Her little jaw dropped open, huge gray eyes rounded to enormous astounded saucers. "Oh, wow!" she airily exclaimed, stunned at what she saw.
Courtney couldn't believe the transformation this made. It didn't do a thing for her height, true. She still looked quite tiny. And it was plain as day she didn't have any boobies yet, either. But, somehow . . . somehow she looked . . . older. More grown-up.
In a flash of blinding insight Courtney suddenly had a clearer understanding of what Mom meant about clothes and the power they had. How many people, she wondered, if they saw her right now would see only the clothes, and the impression and suggestion they made, and miss seeing a nine year old in them?
"Oh, this is so kewl!" she elatedly caroled, dancing in place on tiny bare feet. "Twerp's not gonna know what hit her, huh?"
Softly laughing, deep blue eyes twinkling Sasha nodded. "Nope! She sure won't baby."
Turning this way and that Courtney admired how she looked, just this wee step shy of actually preening with vanity, extremely pleased with how she appeared. Even as a small little voice in her head whispered that she'd never go outside in this, regardless of what her Mom said. Unless she wanted to look like she had an all-body sunburn, anyway. It was much more revealing then anything she'd ever worn before. Especially with that vertical bared slit at her chest!
"I'm not sure if the boots will fit," Samantha cautioned. "You should be about Amber's old size. I asked before I got them. But, even if you both have the same shoe size that doesn't mean they'll comfortably fit you."
Courtney padded back over to her Mom, gazing wide-eyed down at the boots. She didn't really want to mention a certain fact, but she was too conscious of the trust Mom had in her honesty and integrity, and didn't want to betray that precious bond. "They have heels, you know."
"I know. I'd rather they were flats. But they aren't. I'll probably buy you ones with flats soon. But, until then, these should be all right. It's not as if you'll be wearing them all day. Sit down and try them on."
Plopping down on the edge of her bed Courtney picked up one of them. They didn't lace, or zip. In that they resembled her long leather riding boots. They'd need socks, though, so she hopped up, barefoot padded over to her dresser and removed a pair of thin, white cotton, knee length socks. Then back over to the bed to reperch on the edge. Drawing the socks all the way up and smoothing them flat - having learned how uncomfortable bunched up socks can be in riding boots and having no desire to repeat that experience again - Courtney deeply arched her little foot, steeply pointed tiny toes, then tugged the boot on and up. It was a little bit of a struggle. Then again, boots like these always were. Once she felt her foot 'pop' into place she gave an experimental wriggle of her toes. Not tight, which was a good thing. She'd have to walk about some, though, to see if they were too loose, though.
Tiny tonguetip peeking out past small lips Courtney softly grunted as she tugged the other on. "How do they fit?" Samantha asked.
Wriggling the toes on both feet now she replied, "They aren't tight Mom. They feel pretty good." Then she stood up and took a few experimental steps. She wasn't at all concerned about them having heels and her losing her balance. Her riding boots, after all, had very similar heels. In fact, in fit and balance they closely resembled riding boots. The design, however, was quite different. More . . . more . . .
She couldn't think of the right word. If she could have, 'provocative' and 'sexy' would have been perfect choices. Then again, they would have qualified for the outfit, too.
They were a little loose. Not so much on the length as the width. Just not enough to be uncomfortable. She walked twice around the room, just to make sure, before looking at her Mom, tentatively saying, "They should be OK Mom. They are a little loose, but not too bad."
Samantha, meanwhile, had just suffered an epiphany of sorts. A revelation. Her little girl was still a little girl, but she was deeply astounded at the transformation that outfit produced in her daughter. It wasn't just visual appearance, either. Samantha was utterly confident Courtney wasn't doing so intentionally but, by her second pass around the room she was almost strutting. Walking with a grace, poise and verve that was quite astounding. Making her appear older. Bolder. Elegant. More confident, poised and assured.
It was that last that so incredibly stunned and deeply shocked Samantha. All the more startling because it had come without warning. Absolutely no hint at all. Like a bolt of lightning from a clear, cloudless blue sky. And striking Samantha as powerfully as a multi-billion volt thunderbolt, too.
In an instant her daughter had changed. From pure innocence, from naive, unsophisticated, ingenuousness. To sultry and beguiling, captivating and tempting, enticing and erotic.
Samantha might want to deny that. Might want to pretend she hadn't seen that abrupt, unexpected metamorphosis. But she couldn't. And she'd be negligent and delinquent if she did either. One didn't take care of potential trials and pitfalls by hiding one's head in the sand and pretending one hadn't seen it.
It wasn't as if Samantha had any real objections to Courtney being attractive, alluring and sexy . . . down the road, in the future. When she was, oh, eighteen or older. She certainly didn't wish for her daughter to be plain and unattractive. Inhibited regarding passion, indifferent to being seen as lovely and desirable.
Courtney wasn't what Samantha would call simply, merely, pretty. Or cute. Or adorable. Lovely, sweet, charming, yes. A sort of quiet, subdued, elfish grace and elegance, yes, that surpassed simple 'pretty' and 'beauty'. An appearance and poise that complemented her tiny, doll-like figure and lithe, athletic carriage.
That wasn't even considering her imposing precocious intelligence and maturity.
Yet she was one hundred percent little girl, too. And it was that dichotomy, the comparison of the child Samantha knew - held deep in her heart as the most precious thing in her life - versus what she was seeing now that was so startling.
"Is something the matter Mom?" Courtney asked, seeing Samantha looking so deeply pensive.
"Hmmm?" Samantha blinked, gave a little headshake as she roused herself from her introspective revere, then reassuringly smiled at her daughter. "No baby. Nothing's wrong. Just got lost in my thoughts there for a bit."
"A senior moment, huh?" Courtney teased, her wide gray eyes merrily sparkling.
Samantha laughed at the joke. As instantly as Courtney had changed from little girl to diminutive coquette, she'd changed right back again to little girl. Wagging her finger at Courtney she mock-threatened, "Keep that up, young lady, and you'll regret what happens!"
"That's assuming you don't have another senior moment Mom and forget all about that, too!" she shot right back, then burst into a gale of giggles. Samantha laughed again then drew Courtney to her, hugging her close and tight to her chest. They giggled and laughed together, enjoying the closeness and intimacy of their warm, loving relationship.
Samantha treasured this moment more then any other like it. For she'd had a glimmer of what the future - a nearer one then she realized - held. Her little girl was poised, very soon, to start changing. Gradually maturing into a young woman. She wouldn't be a little girl forever. And so she lived for the moment, this moment, storing up every iota. Understanding that, one day, all she'd have would be the memories of cuddling and snuggling with her child.
Bittersweet, in some ways, was that understanding. But, no matter how much Samantha cherished her precious little girl, there was no way she'd ever want her to remain a little girl forever. That, she thought, was likely to be the single most difficult aspect of being a parent: understanding and accepting that, one day, your child would become a self-reliant, independent person in their own right. Making their own decisions, living their own life. And that your duty, obligation and responsibility was to teach, train and guide them to do just that, knowing all the while the child who idolized and trusted you, looked up at you as the most important person in the world, would one day grow up.
Ruffling her hair Samantha smiled at her daughter. "Comedian," she mock-growled, making Courtney giggle again. "I oughtta tickle you."
Shrieking Courtney leaped back. "Noooooo!" Then giggled again.
Samantha chuckled. "Go bring me your hairbrush sweetheart," she said. "And a plain ponyband. I want to fix your hair for you."
Courtney nodded, then turned to get both. Her heart had almost stopped there for a moment, when Mom said to get the brush, wondering if she was going to get punished now instead of tonight for what she'd done. No matter how busy and unusual today had turned out, she'd never really forgotten she still had a punishment coming to her.
But Mom simply brushed her hair, something Courtney enjoyed having done a great deal. Wallowed in shameless hedonistic bliss, to be utterly accurate. She hadn't always enjoyed having her hair brushed. She could remember when she was littler squawling and fussing at having her hair brushed. But for the last couple of years she'd discovered she liked having that done now. A lot!
Samantha gently brushed the long, mid-back cascade of wavy hair until it crackled with static then carefully braided that thick, silky length of honey-gold into a thick plait before securing the end with the elastic band. Courtney just sat there, very still, enjoying the attention and sensation, almost purring like a pampered, petted cat.
Handing her back the brush Samantha stood up from sitting on the bed. "Wait here," she said, "I'll be right back." Courtney nodded, patiently waiting as Mom walked out, returning only a few minutes later. "Stand up sweetheart," she said, and Courtney immediately hopped up. Crouching a bit Sasha slipped a slender, delicate linked gold chain belt around Courtney's tiny waist, fastening it with the clasp. Courtney looked down with wide, enchanted eyes at the lovely belt. "It's pretty!" she softly admired.
Samantha warmly smiled. "I'm glad you like it," she said. "But it's for more then just looking nice." Courtney didn't have to wait long, as she watched Samantha take a small key ring from her pocket and then start attaching the little keys that went to the padlocks of Twerp's collar, cuffs and cage, to find out just what Mom meant by that. Each one of them had, if you knew how to interpret the symbols, little marks that identified what lock they opened, and Samantha patiently explained to her daughter how to tell which key went where. Once she was finished explaining, Samantha attached the key ring to one side of the chain belt.
"Go bring me your riding crop," Samantha told Courtney, who nodded and skipped off, returning with it. Slipping a little elastic loop with a small attached clip around the handle she then placed it on the belt, as Courtney watched with surprised rounded eyes, opposite the key ring. "What's that for?" Courtney asked.
"Several reasons," Samantha explained. "Part of it is that it 'completes' the outfit. Makes it whole. Part of it is, like the outfit itself, it will make a certain, vivid impression on Twerp. And part of it is so you always have it conveniently at hand if you need to 'make a point' with your slave."
Courtney nodded, thinking to herself that seeing that crop probably would make a rather deep impression on Twerp, who surely couldn't have forgotten what it was like being cropped this quickly. Once again showing her precocious perspicuity Courtney asked, "You make it sound like this outfit has a special meaning. Does it?"
Samantha nodded, pleased at her daughter's perception. "Yes baby. It does. It's very much the proper 'outfit' for a Mistress."
"Oooooooh!" Courtney breathlessly replied, suddenly understanding.
"A Mistress doesn't have to wear things like this to be a Mistress," Samantha explained. "She can wear whatever she likes. Or, for that matter, nothing at all. It's not as if you're only Twerp's Mistress when you're wearing special outfits. Normally a Mistress wears certain clothes and outfits for play, or for training. They kind of make an impact on their slaves when they do. So you don't have to wear this every time you're with your slave. I just thought that, for the first few training sessions, this would help establish the right mind-set in Twerp."
Courtney nodded, taking all of this in. She didn't really have any trouble understanding the idea and concept. And was eagerly looking forward to seeing Twerp's expression when she showed up in this!
"That's why I'm having you be the only one with her the first few times, like earlier this morning and a bit later on. So she absolutely understands she belongs to you. Not to me. Not to both of us. And not that I'm the one in charge and telling you what to do and have you do it. But that she belongs to you."
Courtney gently wriggled, liking that a very great deal, knowing that Twerp really and truly belonged to her. Although that responsibility was also a little scary, knowing how utterly dependent Twerp was on Courtney herself. That yoke felt quite a bit heavier moments later when Mom simply asked, "I know I said we needed to get started on things before feeding your slave. But I should have asked you first if you intended to feed her lunch. Do you?"
Small jaw dropping in surprise Courtney stared at her Mom. "Huh?"
"Do you intend to feed your slave lunch?" Samantha repeated. "Just because it's lunch time doesn't mean your slave automatically gets something to eat. She only eats when - and if - you, as her Mistress, decides to feed her. If, for whatever reason - and you, as her Mistress, need no reason other then you want to - you don't choose to feed her, then your slave will just have to go hungry."
Although Mom had said much the same thing before, this time it really hit Courtney hard. She jerked as the words hit home. She'd been very hungry just a little bit ago, enthusiastically diving into her tuna salad sandwich, quite famished. Now she was picturing Twerp, every bit as hungry as Courtney had been, and totally helpless to assuage that hunger, totally dependent on the mercies of Courtney to feed her.
If Courtney chose to feed her, anyway. And, if Courtney didn't . . .
Twerp would just have to deal with feeling starved.
And that didn't involve just food either, she realized. It was food and drink. Going to the bathroom. Washing and showering. Sleeping. Everything.
Samantha just patiently watched her daughter, figuratively seeing wheels spinning in her head, having a very good idea just what was going through her mind.
Other then her threatening outburst earlier, Twerp hadn't really been sulky, belligerent or disobedient, Courtney decided. She wasn't happy about things, no, but she hadn't been making trouble, either. Giving a little shrug of small shoulders Courtney finally said, "I guess so, yes. I don't really have any real reason to skip giving her lunch. And I don't feel right about doing that just to do that. Not so soon, anyway," she amended.
"OK then," Samantha nodded, accepting her decision. "So, what do you intend to feed her?"
She had to smother a grin as Courtney's expression clearly said 'Jeez! I gotta decide that, too?!'
Small, heart-shaped face screwed up in a thoughtful frown Courtney pondered. "Grilled cheese," she finally chose, wondering if that was a good idea even as she decided on it, knowing that grilled cheese was a Sasha favorite. Mom just nodded, though, then said," All right then. Come with me. I'll show you how to make your slave's lunch."
Courtney was stunned and startled yet again. Make her lunch? she thought, knowing full well she wasn't yet allowed to cook on the stove. Well, that seemed to be one more change in her life as, shortly after, Courtney was in the kitchen, learning how to make a grilled cheese on her own. Mom was right there, giving her tips, advice and suggestions. But it was Courtney who actually prepared, then grilled, the sandwich, then cut it up into little squares. And it was Courtney who made the chocolate milk and filled the baby bottle, after first getting over the fit of giggles about seeing that, and picturing feeding Twerp a bottle.
But, all that came after Courtney's own lessons. An intensive, exhausting cram course meant to prepare her for dealing with Twerp when she went downstairs to feed her. So that Courtney would project the proper attitude, and would have some idea how to deal with Twerp depending on how her slave reacted and responded. The very beginning, Mom had explained, was very critical and important. For that was laying the foundation for everything that followed. Not that errors would be disastrous, as any could be fixed over time, but the better the beginning went, the easier later stages would be.
And Courtney was determined to do everything right.
Which, she thought, still sitting on her little rump just outside the room Twerp was locked within, she'd somehow managed to do after all. At least things seemed to have gone just right!
This was starting to be a whole lot more work then she realized it would be, though. Now she also responsible for making her slave's meals, and cleaning up after. Jeez! What else was she gonna wind up being responsible for??
Still, it had been really kewl seeing Twerp's expression as she'd fed her slave and gave her her bottle. And it felt awesomely kewl doing that, too. Seeing her all naked and locked up and caged and everything, Courtney having all that power over her. That just made her feel so . . . so . . . big inside! Strong and powerful and . . . and . . . she didn't know the words to describe it. Just knew that she liked it. Liked it a lot!
And that made all the extra work worth it.
Which was a good thing, too, she thought with a sigh and grimace as she stood up, since her own lessons were waiting for her once she got back upstairs.
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