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.
Courtney stood outside the cell room, watching as her Mom closed, then locked, the door behind them, knowing that inside the room was her slave. Once they had led her inside Mom had, at Courtney's direction, placed Twerp within her assigned cage. This time, however, without the ankle and wrists cuffs locked to each other. Courtney's last image of her slave was seeing her lying curled up on her side. Well, as curled up as possible within the cramped confines of the small hutch, which wasn't much at all.
Mom didn't even have to prompt Courtney about leaving Twerp's wrists and ankles unfettered to each other. She'd decided that on her own, once she, herself, had come down from her earlier euphoric high and really noticed how wiped Twerp was.
They talked a little as Courtney tagged along behind her Mom, watching as she collected several coils of rope and a small sponge ball. Mom wasn't really talking much though. More like just answering her when she said something.
"Is something wrong Mom?" Courtney finally piped up, concerned over her preoccupied silence.
"Hmmm?" Samantha looked back at her daughter. "No. Why do you ask?"
"Well, you're awful quiet," she said. "I was wondering if something was wrong, or if you're mad at me or something."
"No, I'm not mad at you," Samantha reassured.
"Well, I'm kinda mad at me," Courtney admitted.
"Why?" Samantha asked, curious.
Courtney gave a little, semi-embarrassed shrug of her small shoulders. "I think I sorta got carried away a little," she confessed.
"You sort of did, yes," Samantha agreed, her tone not accusing, simply agreeing. "I warned you that might happen, though, didn't I?"
Courtney nodded. "Uh-huh." However, even while admitting she might have been a bit over enthusiastic, it was obvious that she was still excited and raring to go. Her huge gray eyes still sparkled and danced with excitement.
"Do you really want to leave Twerp gagged all night?" Samantha asked, stopping back at the rack where they'd earlier had the little slave secured, placing the coils of rope and the ball on the small table there.
"Uh-huh!" Courtney nodded, her face lighting up. "I think that would be so kewl! Me being upstairs, and then later going to bed, knowing the whole time she was down here in her cage all locked up and gagged all night long."
Samantha gave a little nod at that. "Take your boots off for now please."
"OK Mom!" Courtney said, plopping down on a chair then tugging them off. They weren't overly difficult to remove, being somewhat loose as they were, just a bit big for her, but she still softly grunted as she worked pulling them off. Once off she sat them side by side next to her chair.
"Socks too," Samantha told her. Tiny fingers grasped the top of a kneesock, drawing it down and off, baring her little foot. It turned inside out as it came off, and she wriggled tiny toes once it was off, her little foot slightly damp from being confined in the boot. She inverted the sock right-side out again before draping it over one boot, then repeated the process for her other foot. As much as she liked these boots, they weren't something she was comfortable wearing for long periods of time. She'd rather wear sandals or flip-flops or, best yet, just go barefoot. Sometimes boots just felt way too restrictive and hot.
"Hop up," Samantha told her, patting the center of the rack once Courtney had finished removing her boots and socks. Courtney slipped from the chair, padded over then clambered up onto the rack, perching sideways on the edge, little legs dangling and swaying as she faced her Mom. "More lessons?" she blurted, half-groaning in exasperation and half-excitedly piped. Then she saw Mom come over with two coils of rope in her hands. "What's that for?" she asked.
Instead of an explanation Samantha simply said, "Hold out your hands," then, once Courtney did so, a quizzical expression on her face as she extended both little arms, Samantha started winding one around a tiny wrist.
Courtney intently watched, paying close attention as to how Mom wrapped the rope around her wrist, thinking she was being shown how to properly do that for when she, herself, might tie Twerp up. It looked kinda complicated, she thought. It wasn't just a simple knot or anything.
Samantha laid the middle of the rope at the back of Courtney's tiny wrist, then started loosely looping it around, one end wrapping up, the other down, meticulously assuring each new turn contacted the prior, until she had six full turns wrapped around. Crossing the free ends in a diagonal at the back of her wrist Samantha then made a loose half hitch before passing the free ends under the six loose wrist turns, one going from top to bottom, the other from bottom to top. Once she'd done that Samantha started carefully tugging the slack out of the six wrapped loops, gently snugging them down around the tiny wrist. She retightened the half hitch, then finished by tying the free ends above the half hitch in a square knot, the remainder of the rope two dangling tails about a foot long.
"That looks kinda complicated," Courtney noted. "I'll need to practice it a lot I think."
"It's not as difficult as it looks," Samantha murmured, taking a second piece and repeating the binding around Courtney's other tiny wrist. Courtney kept both little arms outstretched, paying very close attention. They hadn't used rope on Twerp yet, just the cuffs, and Courtney was very curious what could be done with that.
She brought her one tied wrist closer to her face, looking at it quite closely. The rope felt real soft, not rough or anything. She twisted and rolled her little hand, feeling how snug the wrappings felt. Snug, but not tight. But she couldn't just pull it over and off either. Nor could she reach the knot with her fingers, she noticed, not the way Mom had tied it.
"Is this a good way to tie Twerp?" she asked as Mom finished the second tie.
"It is when you don't have properly fitting cuffs, yes," she answered, taking a third piece then crouching in front of her daughter. "Rope can bite into the skin if not tied correctly," she explained, "It can cut off the circulation, and cause damage to muscles and nerves if you aren't careful."
"Oooh!" Courtney said, eyes wide. "I sure wouldn't want to do that!"
"I know you don't," Samantha replied. "I know you don't want to ever harm your slave, not even by accident."
The problem, Samantha knew, was that Courtney could, very easily, harm Twerp by accident. Especially when she hadn't any real idea what Twerp felt at being utterly helpless and totally dependent on Courtney, and all the more so if Courtney allowed her enthusiasm to override caution and control. And it wasn't just physical harm she had to be on guard against, it was psychological harm, too. Pushing Twerp too far, too fast, potentially mentally and emotionally traumatizing her. Hopefully this lesson would demonstrate how easy that could potentially happen, in an explicit, unmistakable fashion.
Courtney's tiny bare feet were idly swinging back and forth as she perched on the rack. Samantha took one small ankle in her hand, then started tying that as she had Courtney's tiny wrists, carefully placing the knot to the outside hollow of one dainty ankle. "Why are you tying my feet, too?" Courtney asked, puzzled.
"You'll see," Samantha responded, concentrating on the task at hand. She had to fixedly concentrate, too. Had to remain focused on the lesson, and not the pupil.
For, this time, the student was going to be her own, unwitting daughter.
Samantha straightened up after finishing tying the last little ankle. Courtney was still looking both puzzled yet curious, but her expression abruptly became quite surprised when, without a word, Mom just gently shifted her until she fully sat atop the rack . . . then guided her down on her back onto it.
Just like she'd done to Twerp.
"M-m-m-mom?" she stuttered, startled and unsure.
"Shhhh Courtney," Samantha murmured. "Just lay there."
Samantha brought the middle body strap up and over, loosely buckling it over her daughter's now-tensed bare tummy. "B-b-but M-m-mom!" she stammered again, "What are you doing?" Her eyes rounded as her Mom brought both her little arms up over her head, then tied each tiny wrist to the ends of the chains there, making sure the knots were far out of reach of tiny prying fingers.
"You remember me telling you that you'd have to experience the things you'd like to use on your slave?" Samantha prompted.
Courtney nodded. "Uh-huh. But I thought that just meant stuff like the paddles and crops and stuff. Not being tied up too!"
Samantha walked down and stood between the open V section of the rack. "Lift your hips up," she instructed. And, while it wasn't quite a demand, it most certainly wasn't a suggestion either.
Courtney swallowed, her tummy suddenly flipflopping inside. A tiny glistening tonguetip peeked out past small, full lips that suddenly felt very dry, swiping along to moisten them. She rolled her head back, staring wide-eyed up at her little wrists - little tied wrists - that were now firmly fastened overhead. Then looked back down at her Mom who was standing there, patiently waiting.
"Y-your g-g-gonna tie me up t-t-oo? Like you d-did T-t-werp?" she nervously asked, still stuttering.
"Yes baby," Samantha confirmed. "Why? Are you afraid?" She motioned with her hands, silently indicating for Courtney to lift her hips as told.
We-e-e-el-l-l-l . . . nooooo . . . she wasn't afraid. Exactly. She really couldn't say what she felt like at the moment. She hadn't any warning, any inkling at all to expect something like this. It was so unexpected, so sudden, it came at her like a speeding freight train.
Wriggling a bit Courtney lifted up her hips. She wasn't really surprised when Mom just gently tugged her skirt down and off, leaving her in just the black leather, laced vest top and pink cotton panties topped by a white, lacy elastic waistband. Nor was she embarrassed at having her skirt taken off. Heck, most of the time she just wore panties around the house anyway when it was just Mom and her.
Still, it was a kinda funny feeling having Mom take her skirt down and off this time. Maybe it was because her hands were tied up over her head. Or maybe it was because the memories of doing this (and other things) to and with Twerp were still so recent and vivid. Courtney didn't really understand why, only that it was.
"Just confused," she finally admitted. "Not really afraid. I don't understand."
Her heart started going thumpity-thump as Mom gently grasped a tiny ankle then drew it way to the side, shifting her leg until it rested atop one V leg of the rack then threaded the ends of the rope through the shackle there, tying it off. "I'm not mad Courtney," Samantha reassured. "You aren't being punished," she explained as she finished the knot then moved to position Courtney's remaining slender little leg. "You do, however, need to understand - to know, and feel - what this is like."
"E-e-every t-t-hing?" she stammered, wondering if Mom meant to show her what everything had been like, including the anatomy lessons.
"You'll see," Samantha patiently said, not providing details. Then Courtney's tummy really fluttered as she added, "Not that you have any choice any more," as her other ankle was then secured, its rope tied to the shackle there.
Her tiny lithe body lightly jerked at that, feeling herself already quite helpless as it was. And Mom hadn't even tightened the wheel or nothing yet. She nervously licked her lips and swallowed again. It wasn't as if she usually had any choice about things anyway. If Mom made up her mind about a decision or a rule or something, well, Courtney just had to accept and deal with that. Somehow, though, being flat on her back and tied up put a very different complexion on how that made her feel inside.
With smooth, practiced economical movements Samantha soon had the four leg straps firmly buckled over her daughter's legs, holding them snugly down above and below her dainty little knees. Then she walked up to the head of the rack and Courtney tensed, understanding what was gonna happen next.
She was right, too. With a very slow yet steady motion Mom turned the wheel up there, gradually drawing her arms - and thus, her entire body - higher and higher, until she was quite taut and stretched out. It didn't hurt, wasn't painful, and wasn't even acutely uncomfortable, but she was very aware of just how taut her body was, feeling that tension along every little inch of her body.
And somehow those soft clicks as the wheel turned sounded much much louder then they had when she'd listened while doing this to Twerp!
Her sharp inquisitive mind was running in several directions. For one thing, she was curious about what was happening. About what all this must feel like. And had been curious about how and why Twerp seemed to like it so much. She also wondered if she'd start having the same nice feelings that Twerp got when she was tied up. For another, she wondered what 'lesson', what point, Mom wanted to make. Was it just a simple point, or a more complex one Courtney couldn't yet grasp the intent?
And that started her mind heading down yet another path. Is this how Twerp feels? Courtney wondered, watching (and able only to watch as she no longer could move) as Mom started strapping her legs down. It's kinda intimidating not being able to move or nothing.
It wasn't exactly scary, since she utterly trusted Mom. But . . . Twerp wasn't going to have that same absolute assurance, Courtney abruptly realized. Once she was tied up she couldn't do nothing about what happened. Just like Courtney was finding out. And worse, for Twerp, it wasn't just when she was tied up, it was all the time now. Everything. Was that scary for her, too? In addition to still being exciting for her?
Courtney pictured this happening to her, but with Twerp being the one doing this - and all on her own, too, Mom not being there - and suddenly she felt quite uneasy and unsure. It wasn't that she didn't trust Twerp, exactly. Although, considering how she'd been the last two weeks, Courtney wasn't sure she could trust her. And if she couldn't, she'd be awful scared by now if it was just Twerp and herself and she was in this fix.
Nibbling her soft, full lower lip Courtney continued pondering. There was a huge difference between something that was scary versus being scared. Halloween haunted houses were scary. So were roller coasters (for Courtney, anyway). But they were also thrilling and fun, too. Sometimes scary - when you knew you were perfectly safe, anyway - was very exciting! But . . . being scared?
Courtney didn't think there was anything at all fun about being scared. Not at the time, and not even after, when it was all over and everything was OK and you were safe again. There wasn't anything fun or exciting about being terrified, so scared your legs turned to jelly and you almost wet yourself.
She guessed that some things had been scary for Twerp. She could easily see how that might be. You could see that by Twerp's nervous fidgets, and the time or two when she'd turned white as a sheet. But that hadn't stopped her from staying excited and aroused. But had Twerp ever been scared? Terrified? And compounding that, knowing she was totally helpless to do anything about what was happening?
Her musings were interrupted as she saw Mom walk over to the table and then pick up the smaller of the two sponge balls and the roll of tape. She then walked back over, standing at her head, and Courtney suddenly understood why Mom had selected a smaller ball on the way over here. Her tummy abruptly plummeted, getting an awful sinking feeling. Huge, wide - and now nervous - eyes gazed up at her Mom, both silently asking and imploring. Courtney did not want to be gagged!
And in that instant of comprehension Courtney suddenly knew how Twerp must feel, each and every time Courtney had simply gagged her slave. She'd known that Twerp didn't want that. Knew that Twerp knew there wasn't anything she could do about it. And that had been terribly exciting to Courtney!
It was a rather different feeling on this end however. Not that she seemed to have any more options then Twerp had had, especially when Mom, without any fuss or fanfare, just held the sponge to Courtney's mouth and said, "Open." It looked ever so much bigger then she thought would fit!
Courtney swallowed again, odd feelings racing through her. She knew this wouldn't hurt or anything, because Mom wouldn't do this to her if it did. Or let her do this to Twerp if it did. But she was also vividly aware of what she'd look like if she were gagged. What she'd sound like. That she wouldn't be able to talk to her Mom if she wanted or needed to.
It didn't help, either, that Mom was looking the way she was. Just like she did when dealing with Twerp. Not cold or hard or unfeeling or anything. Just . . . distant. Determined. She didn't know quite how to explain it and, at the moment, she was feeling too much to reason on that.
A bit haltingly, nervous and unsure - and knowing she didn't really have an option - Courtney slowly opened her mouth. Wide as she could, pretty sure if she didn't Mom would only insist. Little shivers raced up and down as Mom started gently pressing that ball inside her small, gaped mouth. Those shivers increased as she felt it starting to enter her mouth. She sensed its texture; its smooth-rough, porous surface as it slid over her small tongue. Felt it pressing her tongue down, her little jaw open. Felt it slowly but surely filling her whole mouth, expanding as it was pressed inside.
"Mmppffhh," she whimpered, then shivered harder, hearing herself making that soft, muffled, barely audible sound. Tiny feet and hands shifted and twisted in the ropes as Mom finished gently pressing the ball all the way inside. Her little tongue was inexorably pressed down to the bottom of her mouth, her small jaws held wide open. She could, with a little effort, close her mouth somewhat, as the ball was a bit squishy. But it was also elastic and wanted to return to its spherical shape, and kept 'insistingly' pushing outwards, reopening her mouth.
She didn't see any way she could push the nasty tasting thing back out on her own. Mom didn't need to tape her to keep it inside! But she did, anyway, and again all Courtney could do was helplessly watch as Mom stripped three pieces off the roll, then firmly smoothed them, one at a time, over her lips and mouth, sealing the ball inside.
And 'seal', Courtney abruptly grasped, was the absolute correct term, too, suffering a moment of near-panic discovering she could no longer breathe through her mouth. She'd never realized that before, but, she'd always unconsciously taken for granted being able to breathe through either her mouth or nose, and suddenly having one of those freedoms taken from her was startling and scary.
Especially when she had a sudden image of something, somehow, blocking her nose and her no longer being able to breathe at all!
Samantha took a moment to assure Courtney was dealing all right before moving on. Moments later the blindfold was slipped over her eyes, carefully adjusted and secured.
She had no more chance successfully preventing herself from being blindfolded then she had anything else, Courtney understood. Less, in fact, now that she was gagged. It was the weirdest, unsettling and uneasy feeling, no longer being able to talk. She couldn't talk to Mom, ask her questions, or anything.
Including asking for help.
It was so quiet in the room now. She couldn't tell if Mom was still there or not. Tiny nostrils lightly flared as new, sharp, intense feelings raced through her, amplified by the sensation of her helplessness and isolation. It was like she was floating in a world of one. She couldn't see, couldn't move, couldn't talk. And all of that seemed to focus, to sharpen, everything she thought and felt.
After a short while she started gently squirming. Not like Twerp had been doing, hers were more a combination of restlessness and curious testing. She wiggled and twisted tiny hands and feet, seeing if it was possible to ever wriggle free.
Nor was it possible to work the blindfold off, even when she tried rubbing it against her small shoulders. As for that gag, well . . . she wasn't able to even loosen the tape over her mouth, let alone dislodge it, or budge the ball inside.
Samantha quietly watched, standing unbeknownst right next to her daughter. Except she wasn't seeing her daughter. She was seeing a novice, a complete ingenue. She had to distance herself that necessary extent, otherwise she didn't think she could do this. Not so soon, anyway. Not without having braced and prepared herself beforehand.
It was obvious that Courtney was both curious and uneasy. Apprehensive, having no idea what to expect next. Fair enough, as neither had Twerp for the most part. Anxious as to what might happen, feeling her utter helplessness slowing sinking in upon her, taking root and flowering. Now and then it was clear she'd try and shift then, unable to do more then barely wiggle, tiny nostrils would flare as she softly whuffled, as her tiny body tensed.
"Mmhhmm?" Courtney's head looked around as she tried calling out. "Mmhhmm? Hhrr uuhh hhrr?"
Samantha didn't reply, just kept her raptor-sharp gazed pinned on her daughter. After a few more muffled attempts to call out to her Mom Courtney settled back down again, still gently tugging on the securing ropes and straps.
After five minutes, which seemed incredibly long to Courtney, Samantha lowered her hands. Courtney squeaked at the touch, quite startled, not expecting that. Then her cheeks turned a bright pink feeling her Mom start unlacing her vest top. They grew brighter and brighter as she felt the laces loosened, then removed, the sides of the vest then slipped sideways off her small chest before being tucked under her, leaving her effectively bare save for panties. She wasn't embarrassed, per se, but was suddenly and acutely self-conscious and shy.
Once Samantha had tucked the vest sides under she started fastening the remaining two body straps, giving Courtney's tummy a gentle rub once all three were properly snugged down. Courtney had started breathing faster, feeling even more movement denied her as they were tightened across her little torso and chest.
It felt very weird being undressed this way, Courtney thought. Being strapped down and unable to move while someone took your clothes off you. It didn't really bother her having Mom do that, although she wondered how she'd have felt if it had been Twerp doing it. I think I'd'a been real embarrassed if Twerp had taken my skirt and top off like this, she thought, then wondered if that's how Twerp had felt inside when Courtney had done that to her.
Courtney was beginning to understand, she thought, the object of this lesson. To give her a better understanding of how Twerp might feel about things. Not how she felt about the squirmy-type stuff, like being touched and rubbed. But how she felt about being helpless and stuff. The mind stuff, she considered, and not the body stuff.
"Comfy?" Samantha softly murmured, still gently rubbing her daughter's now-bared tummy. "Hhnndhh," she mumbled, blushing at how she sounded, her little shoulders jiggling in a shrug. She wouldn't exactly call this comfy, no. But she also was uncomfortable either. Not yet, anyway, although she could see where this might start getting that way soon.
"Well, you look pretty comfy," Samantha stated. "Comfy enough to stay this way until tomorrow."
Courtney's tiny body tensed and stiffened. "Hhhh!?" she tried to blurt, sure she misheard.
"Well, you thought it was comfy enough to leave Twerp like this until morning, didn't you? Gagged, too, if I remember correctly."
Courtney's already fair, creamy skin blanched. She had said she'd like to do that. Had said she wanted to do that. And had even meant to, until Mom put her foot down and called a halt to things. And boy had she been upset at that! Her tiny, helplessly strapped down body fidgeted and squirmed even more. Mom couldn't really mean to leave her here like this all night! Could she?
Sharp little shivers raced up and down her tiny body. Well, if she did mean to, there wasn't a blessed thing Courtney could do about it!
Just like Twerp, a little voice whispered in her head. She can't do anything about what you decide to do either, can she?
But that wasn't the same thing! she mentally whined. She wouldn't do anything that would hurt or harm Twerp!
Well . . . not intentionally, anyway. Which is why she'd been so torqued when Mom had stopped things. Twerp wasn't being hurt or harmed. Heck, by everything Courtney could see, she'd been very excited and aroused!
But . . . that was what she could see. Maybe Mom had seen something she hadn't. And that's why she stopped Courtney from playing more. If so, she didn't know what that could possibly have been, but she knew Mom wouldn't ever lie to her so it must have been true.
And important enough to teach me a lesson about it, she suddenly gulped.
Courtney badly wanted to ask Mom if she was right, but couldn't do that. She couldn't even ask for reassurance if she got nervous or something. Odd little tingles raced through her as everything that had happened, everything done to her so far, kept building and building. They weren't the same tingles as she'd felt when playing with her slave, but were very close to them. Kinda like having vanilla ice cream and topping it with chocolate syrup one time and hot fudge another.
Samantha had other lessons to teach, too. And one of them was about being played with. Thankfully, there were sensations, and then there were sensations, and so she had a choice of options.
Courtney literally squealed, audible behind the gag, as Mom lightly drew the tip of a tapered nail down her bare side. She tensed and jerked, reflexively tried to pull away like usual . . . and couldn't move, not even a smidgen.
"Ticklish?" Samantha inquired, her voice very soft, sounding as if she hadn't a clue just how ticklish her daughter really was.
"Hhh-HHH!" she bleated, wildly nodding her head. Mom knew how ticklish she was!
Again and again Samantha lightly grazed the tips of her nails along Courtney's bare tummy and sides. Her skin didn't just shiver and twitch at that, oh no. Her entire body tried to buck, twist and thrash. Muffled squealing giggles erupting from behind her ball-and-taped gagged small mouth.
Meanwhile Courtney was discovering something truly shocking and appalling. When you couldn't see, talk or move, tickles felt a bazillion times worse! She bucked and squealed, helplessly so, normally chiming giggles muted by the ball filling her mouth.
Oh gawd! Courtney tried pleading with her Mom to stop tickling. But even if she hadn't been gagged it was doubtful she could have made herself understood past her helpless laughter.
"I wonder if your feet are ticklish, too?" Samantha mildly asked, and no sooner had she spoken then Courtney violently tensed. She was already harshly panting through tiny flaring nostrils at her tummy and sides being tickled, and now Mom was talking about tickling her feet??
"Nnhh Mmhhmm! Ppffhh! Hhnntt mmhh ffhhtt!" she managed to blurt out past her pants and giggles, already feeling lightheaded and dizzy.
Then literally whined and moaned feeling the tip of a nail touch the bottom of one little, smooth and soft, sweaty bare sole. Tiny toes abruptly clenched, curling so tight and hard she could have cracked a walnut open. She wriggled and waggled, twisted and squirmed, tugged and jerked her small foot. Or tried to, anyway, feeling the straps over her legs and the snug rope at her ankle keeping her foot right in place.
Samantha was very aware of just how ticklish her daughter was. And knew that, while Courtney usually liked playing tickle games, found them fun and exciting, there came a point when tickling made her supersensitive and she needed it to stop. Samantha was quite cognizant of that effect on others, and often used tickling for pleasure as well as punishment, teasing as well as torment. She found something incredibly erotic about a person hysterically laughing, appearing to be having a blast, while at the same time tears were streaming down their face, helplessly suffering in anguish and distress and unable to end it.
Which, as it turned out, was very similar to what had been happening to Twerp before. There was no doubt she appeared to be enjoying what Courtney was doing to her. And, truth be told, Samantha knew that it did feel very wonderful and nice. But, just like tickles, too much and pleasure could begin shifting to torment and pain.
And that wasn't even counting the effect all that was having on Twerp's mind. Her having to struggle with all those powerful sensations and feelings, having no idea anything like that could or did exist, while they battered at her, nonstop. She'd needed time to rest and recover, time to try and assimilate everything that had happened.
But Courtney hadn't realized that. Nor, when Samantha had attempted to explain, had she wanted to do anything but sulk or pout over her fun being interrupted and ended. While Samantha understood why Courtney reacted that way, if she was going to be Twerp's Mistress then she needed to understand, on a gut-level, subconscious state of being, just how her slave felt during that experience. And how she, most likely, would feel again in the future.
Even though Samantha hadn't done more then just rest her nail tip against Courtney's soft, smooth sweaty bare sole, her daughter was already giggling. You really didn't even have to tickle her feet to get her going, all you had to do was grin and wriggle your fingers at her feet to have her start laughing.
Very lightly, so very daintily, Samantha delicately drew her nails up and down the center of each wildly wriggling sole. Gales of uncontrollable, hysterical giggles erupted from beneath her gag, she thrashed, bucked and twisted but to no avail. She couldn't get away from those fiendish nails, no matter what she did or tried.
Her tummy was starting to ache from laughing so hard and so long. She could hardly breathe fast enough through her tiny flaring nostrils she was panting and gasping so deeply. Now and then Mom would pause, sometimes for up to a minute, letting her catch her breath. And, each time, feeling the nails return once again, Courtney jerked and bucked; not reprieved nor pardoned from the tickling torment, but merely graced with a temporary pause.
She tried begging and pleading. Desperately, earnestly so. Never before, not even when she'd been tickled the worst she'd ever experienced, had she begged and pleaded harder. The blindfold soaked up the thick tears welling from her huge, enormous eyes. She couldn't believe Mom just kept tickling and tickling, seeking out every one of Courtney's most susceptible responsive spots. Couldn't she tell this was no longer fun, that it was starting to be a distressing torment?
This pause lasted longer then the others. Lasted long enough for her to almost fully catch her breath. She was soaked with sweat from having been struggling and thrashing, and her muscles and joints were starting to complain from their tensed, stretched positions. Why didn't Mom stop? Why?? Couldn't she see, couldn't she tell, just how horrid this now was?
What if she couldn't?
Courtney jerked hard at that. What if Mom couldn't tell? What if Mom thought she was having fun? That this was exciting and entertaining for Courtney?
Desperately whimpering, actually whining, humming her frantic pleas from behind the gag, Courtney frantically tried to get Mom to understand that this had to stop. Had to! She couldn't take any more! She just couldn't!
What she couldn't do, discovering to her utter aghast consternation a minute later, was affect in any way, shape or form what Mom intended, as the tickles once again returned. How long these lasted she couldn't tell, as Mom lightly, demonically tickled her tummy, sides, hips and ribs. But they left her weak and shaky, lightheaded and dizzy, panting and breathless, literally lying in a pool of sweat, her body thickly coated with perspiration.
And that might not be all, either, she realized with growing horror and dread, if Mom kept on tickling her. She was giggling and laughing so hard this time she almost wet herself, and even now she felt as if she still had to pee. If she got tickled any more she wouldn't be able to hold it in!
"Mmhhmm! Pphhffhh! Nnhh mmhhrr hhkkhhlls! Hhh hhttaa hhee!" Courtney groaned. How was she gonna let Mom know she had to pee? Was gonna pee if she got tickled any more!
It took a few moments for the meaning of those muffled mumbles to register. When it finally did, she wasn't surprised. She'd known it would only be a matter of time before her daughter started feeling an implacably tickle-induced need to pee. She'd even had time to decide what to do when she'd reached that point with her.
"So?" Samantha nonchalantly said. "I don't see why that should stop my fun. Or yours. You look like your having a lot of fun, what with all those giggles and squirms. Besides, if you do, I'll just change you. It's not like I haven't changed you before when you wet yourself."
Courtney blanched, whiter then snow, then abruptly did a full body, hot bright flush.
"I did use to change your diapers, after all," Samantha continued. "I might be a bit out of practice, but I'm sure it won't be any trouble at all. And I might like doing that, too."
Courtney blushed impossibly brighter. Mom couldn't really mean to tickle her again until she peed herself, could she? She had a sudden, very vivid and embarrassing image of herself being tickled, giggling and squirming as she struggled to keep from peeing . . . and failing. Wetting herself like a little baby, soaking her panties and legs. Then Mom simply 'changing' her like she was a baby in diapers. And the entire time Courtney just helplessly lying there, tied and strapped down, unable to do anything about it.
Little quivers ripples up and down her as she lay there. Odd shivery tingles surging back and forth throughout her. Would Mom really make her wet herself? Because, if she wanted to do that, Courtney knew, beyond any shadow of a doubt, that's exactly what would happen. She wouldn't be able to do a thing to stop her bladder from bursting loose.
Just like Twerp can't stop her body from reacting to touches, an inner voice softly whispered.
Courtney gulped, a huge convulsive swallow. If she wet herself she'd be horribly embarrassed. But, she was surprised to realize, not truly humiliated or ashamed. It wasn't something she'd be able to control, after all, nor was it something that would shock or disgust Mom, making her look at Courtney poorly or badly.
Samantha took a deep breath. For a moment there she almost started tickling again, fully aware that Courtney would wind up wetting herself. She wanted that partly because of the sensation of power that would bring her, but also because, in some ways, she missed the simple, uncomplicated intimacy of changing her little baby girl.
But Courtney wasn't a baby. And she was her daughter, and those were enough for her to take a step or two back from that brink. She couldn't help, however, from very softly whispering, her voice so low and rich with loving warmth, "I do miss that, you know. Changing you when you were a baby. Bathing you, breast- and bottle feeding you. Sometimes I miss that a lot."
Courtney couldn't mistake the deep warmth and utter love in her Mom's voice. A sort of wistful longing there that she'd never really heard before. Yearning for something she could never have from her daughter again.
A very odd, very gentle, wave of warmth, filled her, starting from the center of her chest and radiating outwards. Her Mom wanted something she couldn't have again . . . but Courtney could give to her. A gift of sorts, something that would please her Mom as maybe no other gift Courtney had ever given her before.
She took a deep breath, bracing herself . . . then wriggled her small feet and tiny toes. Not in a I-need-to-get-away-from-the-tickles motion, but in a very recognizable one, instead.
The betcha-you-can't-tickle-and-make-me-laugh she did at the start of tickle games.
Sasha lay curled up on her side, small heart-shaped face resting atop her flat, prayer-folded hands pillowed beneath her. It felt so marvelous being able to shift and move about; to position and arrange her body, arms and legs as she wished. She'd never again take this sheer, unadulterated luxury for granted again.
Well, able to shift and move about relatively speaking, anyway. She was, once again, 'stored away' in her cage. This time for the entire night. Sasha hadn't believed they'd really do that to her. Make her sleep in the cage all night. She'd genuinely expected to be sleeping in a bed tonight and, considering how tired, exhausted, stiff and sore she'd been, had been eagerly looking forward to a good night's rest in a comfy, soft bed. Discovering that they had, in fact, been absolutely serious had come as a quite unpleasant, unwelcome surprise.
As no few things today had been. Surprises, that is. Unpleasant, unwelcome and unwanted ones. Embarrassing, demoralizing, humiliating and demeaning ones, too. Not that anything she'd said or did made a difference or changed anything.
Then again, she hadn't had many chances, exactly, to say or do anything. And the few times opportunities had arisen she hadn't dared try kicking up any fuss, disagreement or argument.
Too, whether she wanted to admit it or not, this hadn't been a day exclusively devoted to entirely awful things. There'd been several occasions that had been, well . . . nice. Very nice, in fact. Perhaps not, exactly, because of what had happened as much as how that had made her feel inside. Then again, some of the 'what had happened' hadn't been entirely hideous, either.
Sasha gave a mighty yawn, wincing a little as jaws still twinged with residual aches. She gently shifted again, her mind mentally aware of the limits she could move. Which, once she'd accepted the reality, she'd discovered wasn't quite as claustrophobically confining as feared. With her slender little legs fully extended she could lay outstretched without her head or feet hitting the front or rear of the cage. Of course, she couldn't fully extend her small arms overhead at the same time without either her hands or feet contacting. And while she couldn't sit or kneel upright, she could go up on hands and knees without bumping the top. Plus she could lie on her side reasonably curled up without touching the sides.
So she really did have quite a range of free motion. Well, at least she did when her wrists and ankle cuffs weren't locked together, anyway. She had a sneaking, semi-morbid suspicion that others, however, who had spent time in this cage had been far less fortunate then herself. At four foot ten she was a good six to eight inches shorter then most grownups, and she suspected they might find this cage a whole lot more restrictive then she did.
She didn't know if it was early or late; before her supposedly normal bedtime or far past it. From the moment she'd entered this hidden underground complex of rooms, unknowingly and irrevocably setting the stage for her captivity, enslavement and training, she'd left time behind. Sasha had no way at all of knowing if it was morning, afternoon, evening or dead of night. Or even if it was still the same day as she'd gone down, or the next day after. Just because she'd been fed lunch and dinner didn't guarantee they'd arrived at their customary times.
She knew she was exhausted. Sleepy as well as tired and drained. Which wasn't all that surprising, considering the 'day' she'd had. She didn't think she'd been down here for longer then just that day. In fact, she was pretty sure it was that night. But for all she knew it could be anywhere between seven PM and midnight.
Pale, tawny feathery lashes fluttered on smooth soft creamy cheeks, then lids parted a bit, gleaming grass-green eyes peering through the slits. Slowly drawing one small hand out from beneath her cheek Sasha gradually yet deliberately reached out towards the mesh wall of the cage inches in front of her face. A tiny forefingertip lightly, daintily traced the cool metal of the thick wire weave, a delicate shiver quivering through her at that contact.
Not just at the contact, but also as she caught sight of her fingernail again. A nail that was no longer it had been this morning. No longer polished or French manicured. Instead, shortly trimmed, mirroring the curve of fingertips and resembling little half moons.
That had been just one of the many unwanted, unwelcome changes. It had also, much to her consternation and shock, been something of an unexpected wonder.
For the moment Sasha simply followed with partially lidded eyes her tiny fingertip as it brushed up and down and side to side along the heavy wire wove mesh of the cage. Sensing how sturdy it was, how unbreakable and inescapable. Even when her eyes were closed she somehow . . . felt . . . that surrounding her. Enclosing her. Confining her.
It was odd, in a way. She could, for the most part, easily lie down, curl up, stretch out exactly the same as if she'd been in her bed. Unlike, she was sure, a grown up could do if they were in here instead of her. If she just kept her eyes closed and forgot she was caged she wouldn't feel any different then if she were in her own bed.
But . . . she couldn't forget she was caged. That she couldn't just sit up. Stretch. Walk about. Go to the bathroom (which she struggled to keep from truly dwelling on). Grab a midnight snack or a drink of water. Anything like that. The surrounding heavy mesh was a palpable, tangible presence she couldn't forget, ignore or deny, eyes opened or closed. Nor could she forget that - if not now, then at some point tonight - her Aunt and little cousin would be upstairs, in their own bedrooms, comfortably snugged in their own beds, while she was down here, caged and locked up.
'Stored' until they required their slave again.
Sasha couldn't stop the deep shiver at that. At the memory of how they phrased putting her in this cage. They were 'storing' their slave, they kept saying every time they put her in here. As if they were done playing with a toy, done watching a video, and were putting it away until next time.
If they had, in addition to that, also treated her with massive sneering disdain and scornful contempt Sasha didn't think she could have stood it. She hated to admit it, but with all the deep shocks she'd suffered and endured today, that might very well have broken her. Not broken her defiance, but broken her. Instead, they'd made it very clear, in actions as well as words that, although she was now just a slave, subject to their orders and whims with absolutely no freedoms, rights, prerogatives, privileges or anything, she was still something they valued.
Tiny fingers curled through the mesh, then gradually tightened until the creamy skin blanched under the pressure. The wire didn't even deign to notice her grip. Relaxing her hand and drawing it back, the wire leaving crease marks in her flesh, she slipped it back under her smooth soft cheek then closed her eyes again. At least the tingles had virtually faded and eased, although they still, time to time, made a gentle rippling reappearance. For a while there today she didn't think they'd ever fade again. That she'd live feeling them the rest of her life.
Sasha couldn't clearly remember everything that had happened after Aunt Samantha strapped her down to that rack. What she could dimly recall was her Aunt lifting her up, putting her inside here then locking her in before she and Courtney left her alone again. Distantly recollect lying there for what seemed an eternity as her body kept rocking, quivering and vibrating with the aftereffects of Courtney's rubbing. And right now she didn't even dare attempting to remember more then that, petrified that in doing so she'd once again re-ignite those tingles.
Why they'd stopped when they'd had she didn't know. Couldn't even begin to guess. But never in her entire short life had she been so devoutly grateful for anything as she'd been when they finally called a halt to things. She'd thought she'd been losing her mind, her sanity, her very being. Worse, she hadn't cared at that moment if she had been, as long as that meant those profoundly blissful, wondrous feelings continued. She would have willingly done anything for more of them, even as a then-distant part of her mind was crying out in abject dismay and fear at feeling her body no longer under conscious control and will.
When she'd realized where they were taking her she'd been petrified they'd cage her just like they had before, with her wrist cuffs locked together behind her back and her ankle cuffs locked together, too. For if they'd done that she didn't think those tingles would ever have stopped. They'd have just kept going and going until they consumed her, helplessly devoured her alive.
But . . . they hadn't. And so, very gradually - and quite reluctantly; on her body's part, anyway - those tingles eased . . . calmed . . . faded. Until she finally was able to lie there reasonably relaxed . . . and utterly stunned, shocked, dismayed and awed. Sasha hadn't thought it was possible to feel anything that intense, that powerful. That wonderful! And as terrified as she'd been at how utterly overwhelming and frightening that had been, already she found herself wanting to feel like that again.
It hadn't even been a matter of how powerful, how intense, how gloriously grand those throbbing, achy, thrumming tingles had been that had been so disturbing and distressing, as it had she'd been compelled to feel them. They'd been forced on her. She hadn't had any choice, any say so, hadn't had any decision on how much, how far, how long. Nor could she control or resist those feelings once they'd impelled them upon her.
The most absolutely bestest feelings in the whole wide world. Feelings that, as strong and overwhelming as they'd been . . . she wanted even more of. Even if that meant the only way to feel them again was to go along with their 'sentence'. To accept being made their slave.
Or at least pretend to.
She couldn't be that weak, could she? She was much stronger then that! Wasn't she? Since she didn't dare reflect on those wonderful feelings, anxious and afraid of starting them up once again and, this time, unable to stop them, instead she brooded on what had been done to her, and why. Not the touching-type stuff that had been done, or the tying-type stuff (for that would have been as hazardously risky as recalling the touches themselves) but rather then unfairness of punishing her as they'd done.
It had taken almost a year for Sasha to change from being a happy, polite, mannered cheerful girl to the sullen, defiant, disobedient, rebellious termagant she now was. Her world had been sundered, her trust betrayed, her security shattered. Not even suffering as profound a shock as she had would make an immediate change. Nor did it.
But if not a change, there was at least an affect.
Hours seemed to have passed while she lay there. Time during which her now-customary defiance and rebellion gradually started to regroup and rebuild from the tattered fragments they'd been blasted into. But they'd only just started, and so she'd been merely cautious and anxious when Courtney finally returned, rather then hostile and mutinous.
Courtney didn't say anything though, just unlocked the front grill then placed inside a bowl of stew, a plastic spoon, a roll and a plastic travel cup with a tightly fitting lid and straw. Then she stepped back and leaned against the adjacent cage and just watched.
It wasn't the easiest method of eating, no way no how. Sasha braced small forearms on the floor of the cage, using upper arms and small shoulders to partially lift and support her torso semi-upright. It wasn't pretty, no, but at least she didn't have to lap her food; she could use the spoon to ladle up the stew, her hands to break apart and eat the roll and to hold the cup while she sipped using the straw. And, when she'd thought about it, she'd eaten like this now and then at home, laying on her tummy while watching TV and having a snack. Somehow, once again, being in that cage made what used to be something commonplace and familiar feel utterly different.
Speaking of different, while she ate Courtney had watched her with an odd expression. A very deeply thoughtful, very intent quiet look. It almost gave Sasha goosebumps, the way she'd been observing. As if she was looking, not just at Sasha, but through and into her, too. It was somewhat disquieting, making Sasha feel a bit unsettled, too, having no idea what that might mean or portend.
Courtney never did say a single word the entire time, just remained leaning against the one cage the entire time Sasha ate, then just as silently removing the spoon and now-empty bowl and cup from within the cage before closing and relocking the front grill again. Moments later she was gone, and Sasha once again was alone, locked inside both her cage and the room.
With her tummy full she felt quite a bit more relaxed, and even a bit drowsy. Wriggling around a bit to get comfy she closed her eyes, not exactly wanting or needing to nap but not having a blessed thing else to do. She drifted in and out of a light doze, coming awake when sensing someone approaching the cage.
It was Courtney again, leash in hand. She'd already opened the room door and was halfway over. Sasha tensed at seeing the leash, wondering - half dread and half expectation - if Courtney intended to 'play' with her some more today.
Instead of unlocking the top of the cage, opening and folding that section back, this time Courtney unlocked and lowered the very rear of the cage. "Hands and knees and crawl out," she instructed.
Silently muttering to herself Sasha wriggled and squirmed backwards out of the cage as told. Annoyed as she was at the humiliating need to crawl that way, still she was pretty much willing to do just about anything simply to be able to move, straighten and stretch some. Once fully out of the cage Courtney simply commanded 'Leash' and, as she'd been shown ('Trained' a little voice in her head whispered. 'As you'd been trained, not shown . . . Trained as the slave you are, as the slave they made you.') Sasha had assumed the proper position. No use fussing about that, after all, and maybe winding right back up in the cage, this time maybe with a freshly-paddled butt!
Sasha certainly had very real, very pragmatic reasons for just acquiescing and assuming 'Leash'. That, however, sure didn't help explain the almost immediate tingle that started prickling inside her when she had, though. Courtney simply reached up to her collar, small hand holding the leash clip by tiny fingers. Moments later, the leash now attached, Courtney turned and, without a word, started walking off, giving the leash a gentle tug.
Sasha 'dutifully' tagged along, not quite as in perfect posture as she had during that afternoon's training. Partly because she was tired and miffed, but mostly out of a desire to be rebellious, to start chipping away however she could at their so-called 'authority' over her. Obviously her plan was working, since Courtney didn't say anything to her about it. Sasha felt that, if she was careful and cunning, perhaps she could mitigate the worst of the indignities and yet somehow salvage the more pleasant and fun parts.
They didn't go far at all. In fact, the very first room counterclockwise from the cell room. Courtney led Sasha inside the bathing room, stopping in the locker area. It wasn't until she gave Sasha a fierce scowl that she realized she should have immediately knelt when they stopped, as Courtney hadn't verbally told her to "Follow". Owell.
Mentally shrugging Sasha sank down to her knees, eyes peering down at the floor while she started to seethe inside. Courtney simply unclipped the leash, coiling it up and placing it on her delicate gold chain belt. "Stand," she instructed.
Still mentally grumbling at all this foolishness Sasha stood. Courtney unlocked and removed the four cuffs, placing them inside the bottom small locker labeled 'Twerp'. Seeing that again made Sasha's small chin tighten. She didn't like them calling her that, didn't like at all them deciding that was her new 'name'. But, for now, she couldn't think of anything or any way of changing that.
"You have thirty minutes to shower," Courtney informed. "At the end of thirty minutes a slave is to be kneeling right there," she gestured with a tiny extended finger, "with her cuffs back on and locked in place again." And with that she simply turned on a little booted heel and walked off, closing the main door behind her.
Muttering, Sasha glared at the door. Those showers in there sucked. But she did feel sweaty and sticky and itchy so she didn't overly complain to herself. Gathering up her things - such as they were; she rolled her eyes and disdainfully sniffed at the paucity of toiletries they'd supplied her - Sasha padded into the austere bathing area.
The first thing she did was pee, getting that out of the way and luxuriating in the freedom of doing it unassisted. The paper, she noticed using it, was inexpensive 1-ply. Once finished she approached the showers themselves.
Each of the three showers stood right out in the open, just as the toilets themselves were. No walls or curtains or anything. Just a simple pole rising from the middle of one edge of a glazed, pebbly-roughened floor with a drain in the middle, the actual shower 'area' about six by six feet, the four 'walls' of the floor rising up a bit to make a sort of dam barrier. Attached to the pole at the very top was a cheap showerhead, while halfway down were the two knobs for the faucets. Just beneath those, also attached to the pole, was a small, twelve by twelve inch metal plate with holes in it. Obviously, Sasha realized, to put your soap and stuff there.
It felt very strange and weird showering in the open like that. She felt oddly exposed and on display, and was quite happy that Courtney hadn't stuck around to watch 'her slave' shower. Adjusting the water to a slightly hotter temperature then she usually used Sasha simply closed her eyes, stepped beneath the spray and let the stream cascade over her.
It felt so good, so very good! She softly sighed with pleasure, enjoyment of the soothing water surpassing her disdain and dissatisfaction at the meager fixtures. Huge grass green eyes still closed Sasha slowly revolved under the spray, little feet padding in circles as she relished the relaxing warmth. She wondered if this was what a prison shower was like, considering if her Aunt had intentionally made this area to feel like a prison, too. Probably. Actually, almost for certain sure. That sounded like something her Aunt would do; design everything down here so that, one way or another, it made a girl feel like a real slave even when they weren't.
The soap sucked. It didn't have any scent at all. And from the feel, no moisturizer either. And it hardly even lathered, for gosh sakes! Sheesh! The washcloth stank, too. It wasn't threadbare or worn, but it was very thin, and not at all soft. In fact, almost rough. It didn't hurt or nothing, but it also wasn't the nicest, comfiest thing she'd ever used either. So she didn't dawdle washing herself off, sensually enjoying the experience like she would have if using her own washcloths, instead just briskly and efficiently scrubbed down from face to toes. Although she was a bit more cautious and gentle when she soaped her breasts and between her legs, a little fearful she might still be very sensitive there.
She got a bit of a start when she washed her neck and bumped into the collar locked there. Somehow - and she didn't have the foggiest idea how, either - she'd managed to forget that was even there. It wasn't as if it was light or delicate. It was a good half-pound of stainless steel for goodness sakes. But it encircled her neck just right, and as time had passed she'd somehow forgotten it was even there. Now that she was aware of it being there she was quite conscious of it's omnipresent mass, but she was still amazed she'd needed to actually have it brought to her conscious attention in order to remember.
Rinsing off the laughable excuse for lather Sasha draped the soggy washcloth over a hook beneath the plate supporting the bar soap and shampoo. Speaking of which, the shampoo didn't look all that appealing . . . and it wasn't. Just like the soap it was plain, unadorned with scent. And it, too, took some effort to work up a lather.
All in all that hadn't been a very enjoyable experience save for the fact that her aches had eased somewhat and her skin no longer felt prickly and itchy. Turning off the shower Sasha took the towel - which was every bit as thin and rough as the washcloth had been - and dried off, vigorously toweling her hair as she finally stepped out of the 'shower' . . . such as it was.
She left the bar soap and shampoo on the holder, the washcloth on the hook, and simply dropped the towel on the floor next to the plain bare sink where she'd sat her toothbrush, paste, brush and comb.
The brush wasn't anything special, but neither was it uselessly cheap. Careful not to yank any snarls or tangles Sasha brushed out her damp, shoulder length hair, the normally wavy-curly auburn tresses a straighter, darker russet due to being wet. Without conditioners, detanglers, gels or mousses she couldn't do much with it, so she simply brushed the strands out until they crackled.
She finished her ablutions by brushing her teeth. The toothpaste tasted quite yucky in that it had no taste at all, no flavor like peppermint or spearmint, and was actually a bit gritty feeling from the baking soda. So she didn't spend a lot of time brushing and was done very soon. There wasn't a toothbrush holder anywhere so, with a frown, Sasha padded, naked as the day she was born (and as she had been virtually the entire day) back to the locker area. Once there she replaced the toothbrush inside her assigned one, leaving the toothpaste, brush and comb sitting by the sink.
It rankled having to buckle and relock the cuffs back on wrists and ankles then just kneel there and wait like a 'good little slave'. Sasha debated leaving the cuffs looser then they'd been but decided that it didn't make that much of a difference. She'd have to buckle them several holes looser to be able to slip them off without trouble, and somehow she didn't think that would be overlooked very easily. So, since she was thwarted that way she made up for it by indolently lounging while watching the door, slipping into Nadu only when she saw the door start to open.
"Hah!" she crowed to herself, quite pleased at successfully rebelling, even if in such a small way.
Sasha stood up, again moving less than gracefully or quickly when Courtney said, "Leash," actually rolling her eyes as if this was just a big old boring joke as she did so. Again Courtney said or did nothing, she simply turned, gently tugged the leash and led her off.
Not back to her cage, as she'd expected. Instead she punched in the code and lead her into what Sasha had started mentally calling the 'Executive Bathroom'. Once past the door and inside she got a shock, feeling a slightly queasy, unsettling sensation at spotting her Aunt sitting on one side of a very fancy looking vanity table. No sooner did she spot her Aunt then Sasha abruptly fixed her sloppy posture, not about to give her Aunt any reason to scold - or worse. Icy, frigid fingertips danced their way down her spine as Courtney simply led her over, stopping right in front of her Aunt, the vanity between them.
"You know what my instructions are for my slave," Courtney simply said as she unclipped the leash from the collar. Sasha couldn't help it, her small jaw dropped at her words and tone. Courtney was speaking to her Mom like that? And she wasn't being landed on like a ton of bricks?? Inconceivable!
"Yes Miss," Samantha replied, shocking and stunning Sasha even more. "I do, and I'll make sure they are followed. To the letter."
"Thank you," Courtney returned, then simply turned and walked off, leaving Sasha standing there, alone and starting to tremble, in front of Samantha.
Samantha stared at her with suddenly cool, hard eyes, then opened a drawer at her end. Sasha's little legs wobbled like rubber as she brought out and sat atop the vanity a pair of thinning shears, trimming shears, a comb, a brush and an elastic holder. Her voice every bit as hard and stern she intoned, "A slave was told to keep her hair in a ponytail. She has one minute to repair that error or she will be trimmed in a page boy."
There was, perhaps, two to three seconds of dead silence and frozen motion. Then, with a choked gargled sob Sasha exploded into motion. Frantically, with violently trembling small fingers she brushed her hair back, gathering it together behind her head. Not for a moment did she think her Aunt was joking about that. Not about cutting her hair or only giving her a minute to band it back. Normally graceful, experienced fingers moved and felt like dead logs. She almost dropped the brush twice, and whimpered both times.
She'd no idea how much time was elapsing. All she knew was that she'd better hurry hurry hurry. She cried out a few times as she yanked her hair in her haste, but never slowed up, finally getting the band secured at last, standing there shivering and trembling, terrified she'd taken too long.
She had, by almost thirty full seconds, but her instant alacrity at obedience satisfied Samantha . . . this time.
Laying the brush on the table, small hand trembling so hard it rattled like castanets as she did, Sasha felt like she couldn't breathe, her chest tight with anxiety and fear. A choked gasp burst from her when Samantha simply replaced the shears, comb and brush and commanded, "Sit."
Even with a chair right there Sasha didn't dare assume using it, instead instantly sinking right next to it in the 'Sit' position she'd been taught earlier. Long, long seconds passed before Samantha softly murmured, her voice mildly approving, "Now that's a good, obedient little slave."
Again Sasha breathed a sigh of relief. She didn't relax, no. She didn't dare. But there was still a touch of relief at that.
"This time a little slave is to sit in the chair. Arms extended, hands flat on the table, palms down."
Scrambling Sasha hastened to obey. Not even in ordinary circumstances did she ever wish to piss off her Aunt, and these sure weren't 'ordinary' by any stretch of the imagination!
Samantha removed from a second drawer a slender flat plastic case about six by twelve inches, setting it in the table midway between them. Opening it she removed a small tube, then squeezed a little of the contents onto her fingertips. Once after another she rubbed the gel onto Sasha's little fingernails, taking her time to massage along the cuticle before moving to the next nail. Once finished she replaced the tube, returning it to the case before removing an orange wood stick.
Sasha's huge eyes rounded a little in amazement at this. She'd only had one once before, but getting a manicure had been something she'd found sinfully wonderful. Samantha very carefully, very expertly, pushed each cuticle back with the stick, then replaced that with a pair of cuticle trimmers. Sasha just quietly watched, tense little body relaxing, actually enjoying the very unexpected pampering. Gentle little tingles darted through her, this felt so very nice and soothing, and she never realized or noticed her small, puffy, pale nipples gently puckering.
Samantha noticed, however, but in no way visibly reacted.
When Samantha replaced the cuticle trimmers with nail trimmers then took one little finger in her hand, however, Sasha stiffened and tensed, abruptly remembering what Courtney had earlier decided regarding her nails. Sasha took great pain taking care of her nails, and liked having them somewhat long and French manicured, the ends squarish with a stripe of white at the tips. She most certainly did not want them trimmed back into babyish shapes.
She actually jerked her hand back and away, a look of aggrieved outrage on her face. An expression that changed into pale fright at how Samantha's countenance had changed. Nervously gulping Sasha shifted tactics, letting her full, soft lower lip pooch out into a trembly pout even as her eyes welled and filled. If anything her Aunt's expression grew even colder and harder, and at that Sasha didn't have to act in order to have a single thick tear trickle down her smooth soft cheek.
That had the same effect as a tossed feather had being thrown against a mile high block of granite.
None at all.
Sniffling, no artifice about that, either, Sasha re-extended her small hand, which now trembled and quivered. Then she took a deep breath. Then another, getting angry, using that anger to build her walls and defenses back up.
Fine! she huffed. Go ahead. Cut my nails. I don't care. They're just nails, after all. They'll grow back again. Pretty quick, too. I'm not gonna fall apart and get all crybaby just because you're being cruel and mean.
Little chin jutting out in impotent defiance Sasha looked to the side, refusing to watch, refusing to give her Aunt the satisfaction of 'scoring' on Sasha. With utter impassivity she stoically sat there, hearing the soft 'snk' sounds as Samantha carefully clipped around each nail. Sasha refused to let that affect her, refused to give her Aunt the satisfaction of seeing how unhappy and distressed she was at having her pretty nails ruined, turned into little baby nails. She did notice, though, even through her obstinate resolution, that her Aunt was being gentle, clearly remembering how uncomfortable it had always been when Mom had cut her nails in the past. Sasha had always restlessly fidgeted and squirmed, strongly disliking the feel of little fingers being held this way and that as her nails had been trimmed. But somehow it didn't feel at all discomforting the way her Aunt was doing it.
She continued looking away as her Aunt started smoothing the newly trimmed ends with an emery board, hearing the soft rasp as it was worked back and forth along the edges. She did, however, peek when, after the last nail had been smoothed Aunt Samantha took something else and started back at the first nail.
Sasha had no idea what she was doing, peeking out of the corner of her eye as her Aunt used some sort of thing that looked like a three-toned emery board across the top of her nail. Moving side to side across the surface she used first one half of one side, then the second half before reversing the thing and repeating the process until she'd used all four sections. Then moving onto the next nail as Sasha felt her curiosity mount. What was she doing?
One Aunt Samantha was finished with one hand and had moved onto the other Sasha, her curiosity now stronger then her desire to appear cool and indifferent, lifted the completed one up to her face so she could see it better. Her small jaw opened in a silent 'O' of surprise.
Each tiny nail had, in fact, been closely trimmed. Just as promised and just as she'd feared. But they looked quite different then she'd ever seen them before. Sasha had never had her nails buffed and burnished before. The surfaces were perfectly smooth, softly gleaming with a mirrored shine. So much so that they took on a soft, shell pink hue. They almost looked as if they'd had a coat of clear gloss . . . but they hadn't been painted, they were her natural, unadorned nails.
Wide emerald eyes dropped down, now watching as her Aunt buffed the nails on her other small hand, intrigued against her will, looking at her as she patiently and expertly burnished those surfaces with the buffing stick. It was . . . odd. Her nails had never looked this nice before, the cuticles perfectly trimmed, the surfaces looking like glass. Even with the tips being trimmed into babyish half moons they still looked more . . . grown up this way.
A furious blush spread across her face when her Aunt simply said, "A slave's Mistress should find them pleasing now," once she'd finished. It didn't seem to matter that Sasha might be quite thrilled - or not - at how they looked. The only important issue was that Courtney did!
Oh how Sasha fumed at that, her pleasure at how nice her nails looked spoiled by the understanding her own feelings didn't matter, didn't come into consideration. Only her Mistress' did.
Samantha didn't miss the fleeting flash of indignation at what she'd said. Nor had she missed the surprised, pleased look when Twerp had snuck peeks at the finished set of nails. They didn't influence or affect anything she said or did, but she carefully catalogued and stored in her mind each and every one.
Aunt Samantha didn't put the manicure kit away once she'd finished doing her nails like she'd thought she'd do. Instead she picked up the box, carrying it with her over to a nearby, oddly shaped chair. Well, not that oddly shaped, compared to some of the other 'furnishings' down here. It's just that one normally didn't expect to see something resembling a salon chair in someone's basement.
"Come and sit down," Aunt Samantha had said and, feeling a bit uneasy, not knowing what to expect next, Sasha had padded over and sat down, placing her little bare feet on the footpad when told to do that next. She couldn't keep her cheeks from glowing as she did, since sitting that way was rather revealing, all the more so since her Aunt was perched on a little stool right at her feet and thus was getting quite the eyeful.
Her cheeks grew even brighter, but with indignant impotent anger as her Aunt simply removed another small bottle and started removing the hot pink glitter polish from tiny toenails. She hated everything that was happening but was powerless to stop it. Loathed it even deeper because she understood why they were doing this, too. Because they considered her their slave, their possession, and had the right to 'decorate' her anyway they darned well pleased or wished.
Sasha sullenly fumed as her Aunt carefully removed every trace of polish and glitter, struggling to keep that off her face, not wishing to give her Aunt the satisfaction of seeing how all this was affecting her.
Unfortunately, Samantha didn't care either way. It didn't matter one bit if the little slave liked or disliked what was happening.
She was a bit surprised, however, once her Aunt had finished removing the polish. For she didn't stop there, but continued onward with a pedicure. Now Sasha had never had one of those before. She couldn't keep tiny toes from gently wriggling during the process as it felt a bit tickly-weird but nice. First her Aunt softened her cuticles then pushed them back before trimming them. Then trimmed the nails before smoothing the edges with an emery board. Then, just as she had for the fingernails, Aunt Samantha used the buffing stick to the surfaces, until each tiny toenail softly gleamed like mirrored glass . . . and without using any polish at all.
She refused to admit it, either to herself or her Aunt, but she thought her nails did look pretty like this. Even if her fingernails did look rather childishly trimmed. She surreptitiously ran the pad of a finger over one of her nails, feeling how silky-smooth the surface was.
Replacing everything back in the case Samantha rose from the stool and walked back over to the vanity, returning it back in its drawer. Then she strolled over to a table. More of a bench table then a table table, about three feet off the ground, the padded leather top about three foot by six. Patting the top Samantha instructed, "Lay face down."
Again a bit nervous and unsure, wondering if she was going to be strapped down on that for the night or something, Sasha had gotten up from the chair and padded over, scrambling up and onto it before laying down as told. At the end where her head was there was an odd oval cutout in the padded surface, and her Aunt had her shift about until her face was resting in the depression. She'd no idea what to expect, no idea what was going to happen next, and her little naked body was quite tense and wary.
She kept her face down even as she heard her Aunt puttering around behind her, although she grew even tenser as the seconds passed. Then literally jerked as her Aunt finally placed her hands on her back, up by her shoulders.
Warm hands. Very warm hands. Very warm, very oiled hands.
"Ooooooo gawd," Sasha softly groaned, almost inaudible, as her Aunt started massaging her small shoulders. Small shoulders that ached, that were sore and strained from everything today, from being tied as she was for most of the morning, from the practice exercises and stretches and from all the posture practicing too. Her tensed, wary small body virtually melted within moments as wonderful, soothing, relaxing tingles rippled through her as her Aunt deftly massaged small shoulders, neck and back. Finding every knot and loosening them, finding every achy, stiff spot and easing them.
Sasha had never been massaged before. This felt so . . . so . . . heavenly! The oil felt so nice on her skin, so warm and slippery. It even had a slight floral scent to it that made her feel even more relaxed. Little soft grunts and groans slipped past her small lips as she literally surrendered to her Aunt's ministrations, small naked body languorously, bonelessly limp.
She hadn't realized just how stiff, strained, sore and achy she was until now. Nor had she ever felt this pampered before. Having a manicure, then pedicure then a hot oil massage. She felt more like a princess at the moment then a slave!
And then her pale gold, feathery brows furrowed a bit. Was she really being pampered? Or were they, instead, simply taking care of their property? Making sure it remained in good shape? Once she'd considered that, the reality became quite clear to her. This might feel good and be enjoyable (and, she admitted, it felt very good, indeed, and was extremely pleasant and enjoyable) but it wasn't being done for that reason alone. Or even for that reason at all. The single, solitary purpose for this was because a slave was being taken care of. Her figure and appearance prepared as her Mistress desired, her body cared for so it remained in perfect, tip-top shape.
Comprehending that lessened a great deal her mental enjoyment, but it didn't diminish one iota her physical pleasure. Not a bit! She continued softly groaning with pleasure throughout the 'ordeal', as her Aunt massaged her from small shoulders to slender, lithe calves, until she was limp and drowsy.
"She likes this, doesn't she?" she heard Courtney whisper, jerking a little when she did. She hadn't even known Courtney had come in, and was startled to hear her voice.
"Looks that way, yes," Aunt Samantha indulgently said, finishing up one supple calf.
"Does it feel as nice as it looks?" Courtney curiously inquired.
"Oh yes," Samantha assured. "It certainly does."
"Good!" Courtney brightly chimed. "I want my slave trained to do this, so she can do it to me."
Huh!? Sasha thought. Say what!?
"As you wish Miss. I will see to it," Aunt Samantha simply said, while Sasha abruptly burned. The little twerp thought she'd be made to massage her? Be trained to do that? Was she out of her mind!?
Aunt Samantha had lightly toweled her body off (using a towel, Sasha noted, substantially softer then the one given to her to use for showering) and then Courtney had said, "Leash." Mentally grumbling and irked Sasha had risen, assuming the correct posture right away (as her Aunt was right there and, undoubtedly, would land on her if she hadn't done so). Courtney simply clipped the leash onto the collar and led her off, back to the cell room again, stopping in front of her cage.
Sasha was positive it was growing late, getting close to bedtime, and got an uneasy feeling being led back here again. They'd said she'd be 'stored' like this whenever not actively doing anything, but she hadn't really believed they meant for her to sleep like this, too. But they had meant just exactly as they'd said and, minutes later, Sasha had been left alone again, locked up in her cage, with the lights very dimmed. She wasn't exactly afraid of the dark, but was nonetheless grateful Courtney hadn't turned them completely out.
And now there was nothing to do but try and sleep, helplessly locked up for the night until they came for her in the morning. A morning she was slowly growing to fearfully dread, even as a tiny part inside her tingled in curious anticipation.
I have only two minor criticisms: The writing could use a bit of editing. A little pruning would take up the little bit of slack there is. More importantly, the text needs copy editing. The misspellings are distracting and undermine a reader's identification with each character. Also, occasionally the wrong character's name is used, which is momentarily confusing. Thank you for writing this revelatory tale.
Authors love hearing from their fans.