The woman and her daughter step into the compartment. They look a little flushed as if they had run to make the train, and as it is now gathering speed as it leaves the station they look relieved to have caught it on time.
As I am the only person there the woman - an attractive female in her mid thirties, I reckon - nods to me and asks if I mind the two joining me. I smile and gesture that they should feel free to take any seat they wish. The woman and the girl, aged about ten years old I estimate and wearing a pink and yellow flowered dress, sit opposite me.
They do not have much luggage and the woman puts her traveling case on the seat next to her. She places her small purse next to it, on her left. The child sits to the mother's right, between the woman and the window. The child gives me a small look, the way children do, weighing me up. A stranger, of course, and one she perhaps didn't expect to see. Not a stranger like me. The child gives the merest smile, a touch awkward.
I smile back but the child looks away. The woman notices my smile and smiles herself, blushing very slightly, perhaps to excuse her daughter in some way and showing she is aware that her daughter may seem a little rude.
They are of course aware of how I am dressed and this both intrigues them, particularly the child, and it worries them. But I am untroubled by this kind of observation. As they say, it goes with the territory.
The train is gathering speed and the child looks out the window. She is blond like her mother, with long blue ribbons in her hair which match her blue eyes. She perches rather than sits on the edge of the seats opposite me. Her mother tells her to sit properly, and uses the child's name, Lana. I wonder if it is my presence that makes the woman so concerned by her child's posture but perhaps it is what mothers have always done, admonishing their children when they can.
Lana wriggles back and her shortish dress, bunched under her, allows me a view of her pants. White cotton, with just a little lace edging. Lana's mother tells her daughter to sit still. The child looks puzzled by the apparent contradiction: she was told to sit back and now sit still. She does however wriggle a little more and opens her legs as she does so.
I have a perfect view of the crotch of her pants. Perhaps the child does not realize but does not close her legs properly.
The train is picking up speed and trees close to the side of the train flash by. The child looks out, startled as we go under some bridge. She looks at me again, blushing just a little but offering a smile - more of a grimace - that indicates she was scared for a moment.
I say to her not to worry. It was only a bridge going past. or rather, us going under a bridge as bridges must, by the way they are, stay quite still.
The mother repeats what I've said and then looks at me, almost as if for approval. I nod. She takes my approval as an invitation to be more open and begins to tell me her and her daughter are visiting family - her parents, apparently. Lana, she says (she uses the child's name without hesitation) is her only child. Her husband would normally drive them to visit but he's working away. Lana it seems is not used to traveling by train.
We get into an easy conversation, the woman and I. She even tells me her name in it for some reason. Brenda, but her friends all call her Bren. She is clearly keen to be open. But then I elicit that from others, as I would expect.
I study her while she talks, looking at her scraped back sensibly-styled hair, the heavy bust under her prim blouse, the knee-length blue skirt and of course her legs. Well shaped legs. She is, I can tell, wearing stockings rather than pantyhose: the nylons are smoother, shinier. I wonder if beneath this staid exterior she is more adventurous than she would admit. I sense that she is aware I am looking at her legs and she blushes a little, as if wearing stockings is some statement of sexual intent.
I glance back at the child several times at opportune moments (such as when the woman says her daughter is doing well in school), looking at the child's flat chest but mostly at the sight of her panties, or what I can see of them. The child is both fascinated by the world rushing past and by my looking at her. Eventually the child realizes that her legs are apart and closes them. She looks at me cautiously as she does so. I frown at her and shake my head a little: the child seems to understand my disapproval and opens them again. Lana returns to looking out the window.
The mother also realizes what's passing between me and her daughter and admonishes the child for sitting like that, but not me for looking. Lana closes her legs but looks at me, slightly concerned she may be upsetting me. I allow myself a small frown of disapproval.
The woman meanwhile apologizes for her daughter's carelessness. I say that I am not troubled by it and children should relax on trains. As indeed should mothers. Relaxation is very important, I intone, when people are on a journey. And all journeys are ones of self-discovery.
The child looks a little puzzled at what I have said but the mother nods almost imperceptibly. My words have an immediate effect. The woman opposite me has kept her knees tightly together since she sat but now allows them to slide a little open. Of course, under her skirt I cannot see much - no welts of her stocking tops - but I appreciate the small opportunity she is giving me.
Another bridge goes past and the child laughs at this one, checking me and her mother for approval. Little Lana must sense her mother's relaxed attitude and lets her own legs open a tad. This, I feel, is going well.
The woman asks me where I am going. I tell her I am going to the same place as she is. This startles her a little as she cannot recall actually telling me the exact destination once she leaves the train. I simply repeat I am going with her. Journeys are like that, I add.
A subtle change takes place in our relationship, such as it is. The woman - on a level she is barely aware of - is starting to accept I am her companion. When she says where her parents live I say that too is where I am going. For some reason she blushes and puts her hand on her chest. She looks away, out the window, perhaps intrigued why I would want to be in the same place as her. Where her parents live.
Lana asks the obvious: is that person coming with us, mommy?
I say, yes I am. I sit forward and smile. Would you like that, Lana?
The child shrugs briefly and then gives a small grin and says yes. At once the child checks her mother for approval. The woman does not say no. The woman seems to gulp and then looks at me. She asks why I'm going with them.
I smile and say that would be down to her. She does not know what to say and blushes a little more. Brenda says she is getting warm in the compartment. She eases her legs apart a fraction more. Her fingers reach for the topmost button on blouse. She toys with it, unsure whether to undo it. A gesture of revealing herself even more. She does, not looking at me but knowing I am looking at her as she flips it open.
I ask Lana if she thinks her mother would be cooler if she opened her blouse a little more. As Lana grins and nods, looking at her mother and me, the woman blushes. She tries to say she is okay and was just a little warm but she is better now. I express the opinion she isn't, as she looks hot. Brenda, knowing the word has a distinct sexual connotation, looks startled.
I ignore the woman's reaction and say that the child should help her mommy be cool by undoing the buttons on the woman's blouse. Brenda looks even more startled, her mind clearly working over the "hot" and "cool" aspects of what I have said. She hovers on the verge of indecision. I add weight to the issue by suggesting to Lana that her mommy wouldn't want to get her nice blouse creased, would she? Lana chuckles a no as it is a new blouse and mommy's favorite.
Brenda looks quite embarrassed by this and insists it isn't really her favorite, but Lana choruses it is because her mommy had told her so. Brenda laughs a little and brings her hand up to the blouse, toying with the newly opened button. She tries to shrug as if to say kids don't understand. I repeat my point that as she is hot it would be better to remove her blouse. Brenda blushes and gives a nod. I look at the little girl and tell her to unfasten her mommy's blouse as it will help her. Lana looks at her mother for permission, receives a small but obvious smile, and reaches over to unfasten the buttons.
Kneel up, I tell he girl. It will be easier. Lana does as she is told and is kneeling up next to her mom, who looks flustered as her daughter unfastens her blouse. Eight buttons, each coming undone and revealing a plain white slip beneath. Not completely plain I am pleased to see. There is lace edging on the part over her bra cups and a lace inset running from between her breasts down to her navel. I tell the small girl to peel her mommy's blouse aside so we can better see mommy's lovely white slip.
Lana does as she is told and I tell her she has done well. The child is pleased and sits back on her haunches, looking at me and then at her mom's bust, revealed. I then suggest it would be better if the blouse came off entirely, and was put on the seat next to mommy. Eagerly Lana tugs the blouse off her mother's shoulders before Brenda can say anything, and the child soon has it pulled down her mother's arms and off. I tell Lana to fold it neatly and put it by her side, and the child attempts to do so.
The woman sitting in just her slip and skirt has a distinct red tinge to her cheeks but also a certain light in her eyes. She watches Lana fold up her blouse and then asks what about her daughter? I respond the child should not have her dress on as she also is hot. Brenda assumes, rightly, that she must do something about this and immediately tells Lana to ease up straight so the woman can unzip the dress in the back. Lana kneels up and half turns so her mother can unzip her. The dress comes off the little girl's shoulders easily as she wriggles.
Lana gets off the seat so she can step out of her dress. Her mother holds her child's arms to she doesn't lose balance because of the sway of the train. The dress falls and I say the child should leave it on the floor. The mother looks a little anxious but only says it is all okay when the child looks at her for approval. I imagine at home the girl is told to always pick her clothes up. But not now. The pink and yellow flowered dress lies on the floor. The child clambers back up on the seat.
I look at the child in her white cotton vest that matches her panties. I ask the child if she thinks it is fair her mother still has her skirt on. Lana agrees it isn't fair that her mommy has her skirt on. She asks if she can take if off her mommy.
For a moment it looks as if we have gone too far, that Brenda has reached the line where our game is about to become dangerous. It has, but she must step over that line. I wait, relaxed while she admits she has no option.
After a moment or two (in which Lana asks her mommy can we, please, please, please?) the woman relents. She stands, looking a little flushed, and holds her arms out as if to say, go ahead. Lana chuckles in delight and says it is like undressing dolly. Dolly's skirt zipper comes down and Brenda allows her skirts to fall round her ankles.
A bunch of blue next to her daughter's pretty dress on the floor of the compartment. The mother steps out of her skirt. The woman looks self-conscious in just her white slip, but it suits her. I tell her she can sit. She does and for a moment closes her knees. I glare as if I do not approve and she lets her legs slide open. Thought the lace edged thinner slip more light allows me to see the welts of her stocking tops and a hint of her panties. Red, I note with satisfaction: a woman with deeper passions.
I suggest the woman opens her legs wider. After a momentary hesitation she does, looking embarrassed. I tell Lana to tug her mommy's slip back. The child tries to but it is difficult as the woman is sitting on it, but at my suggestion the woman lifts her hips so her daughter can slide the slip back underneath her mother's bottom. Thus I have a perfect view of the woman's red underwear - matching panties and garter belt - and stocking tops. Brenda looks both shocked and aroused that this is going on, that this is being done to her with her complicity.
I see the child staring at her mother's underwear, no doubt fascinated that it consists of so much lace and elastic. The child is probably thinking she will have to dress like that when she is older, all straps and secret fatsenings. I ask Lana if she knows how to remove a woman's stockings but she looks confused and doubtful. I tell Brenda to instruct her daughter how it should be done. Without hesitation the woman explains that garter clips unfasten by sliding the button back from where the stocking bulges through. She also says that the girl should use both hands as her fingers are small.
Lana tries, but doesn't - literally - grasp the principle. I tell the woman to undo one to show her daughter, but then fasten it back up so Lana can unfasten all four. Brenda obeys and Lana watches fascinated. Then the child manages to undo all four, scampering in delight round her mother to reach all of them.
When the child has finished the woman's garters dangling open on the woman's thighs. Lana is pleased with herself but I tell the child she hasn't finsihed. I say she must roll the stockings carefully down her mother's legs. She must kneel on the floor to complete it as well as removing her mother's shoes to complete the task. I get a good view of the child's pantied ass as she crouches, her back to me. I can tell Brenda is watching me watching what her daughter does.
The child sits up, smiling and looking flushed from all her climbing and crouching. She has the stockings in her hands so I tell her to put them down next to her. Then I say she must undress completely. She begins to lift her vest but her mother stops her by speaking. For the first time since entering the compartment, Brenda had said no to me. I stare at her, a look of displeasure on my face. The woman blushes. No, she says, forgive me, explaining if Lana undressed her then she - the mother - should undress her child.
I smile at her logic and nod. The mother reaches over and lifts the child's vest off and then eases Lana's panties down, leaving the child delightfully naked. I tell the woman to throw her daughter's underwear on the floor as they aren't needed. Then I tell the woman that as she said no, even for something better, she must be punished.
The woman looks startled but nods. She understands that negative reactions are indeed punishable. I tell the woman to kneel in front of me, hands behind back. She does so and I say to the child that she must stand behind her mommy and take hold of her mother's hair with her small hands. Lana, I say, you must screw mommy's hair up tight and pull her head way back so she is looking up at you. Brenda looks as if she might object but remembers that the word no is punishable, so she bites her lip. She bites it more as Lana eagerly weaves her small fingers into the full head of hair and with a grunt of effort (and delight) twists her handfuls of her mommy's hair and drags the woman's head back. Tears come to Brenda's eyes and she gives a gasp. I tell her to open her mouth and instruct her to keep it open, and then I tell Lana to spit in her mommy's mouth.
Lana's eyes open wide in surprise and she asks can I really? I say of course you can - it's mommy's punishment. Lana grins and needs no second bidding to lean over her mommy's face, hawk up a little spit and aim it into her mother's open mouth. Brenda gurgles in pain and shock as her child's spit hits her tongue. Swallow it I say, and Brenda does.
I instruct Lana to let go and for them both return to her seat. I am pleased to see the woman does, keeping her legs apart and her hands behind her. I know she is doing this to earn my approval. However, I tell Lana to stand up so I can see her naked little body.
The girl stands right in front of me and she too puts her hands behind her, clearly copying her mother's submissive attitude. The child is shivering a little, but that is to be expected. I suspect she has never been inspected like this before and is nervous. She also thinks that I may do something like spit in her mouth but I am not going to spit in her mouth and tell her that. She smiles gratefully.
I run my hands over the child's body, dwelling on her non-existent breasts and nipples, pinching them gently to elicit a moan or small cry of surprise, and then over her belly to her small slit. I tell to stand legs apart so I can continue my intimate examination. She gasps as my fingers close on the little lips of her sex, rubbing my finger into the fold. Behind her the mother is trying to see what I am doing. She has not broken position, which I am pleased about.
I tell her so while my hands continue to run over her daughter's slim little body. Brenda looks pleased and wriggles a little, perhaps to get her hands tighter behind her. She even swells her chest out in a gesture of sexual eagerness.
I turn my attention back to the child. Lana, for no reason, tells me her mommy thinks she has a lovely little body. I make no comment: I am not interested in her mother's views, only my own. I know of course that Lana wants me to say something good about her, a reward for her adventurousness. I relent. I tell the child she is very pretty and bring my hand up to stroke her lovely, smooth cheek.
Then I slap the child once.
Both mother and daughter give a gasp: the mother in horror and the child in pain and shock. To my satisfaction neither break position, though the child, tears welling in her eyes, asks why I hit her. Because I can, I say gently. But she must be brave, whatever happens. The child accepts it and nods. She blinks the tears away, saying something about that she hasn't been naughty.
I soothe her by saying she has been a very good little girl, but even the best behaved girls must be punished occasionally. I look at the mother, who has sat forward a mere fraction but not moved more. I say to Brenda, isn't that right, mommy dearest?
Mommy dearest nods and says yes. Lana looks over her shoulder at her mother and tries to smile bravely. Then she looks back at me, flinching as I put my hand up to her face again. The girl asks, will I smack her face again?
No, I say, I won't, but her mommy will. Lana looks shocked and shoots another look at her mother, who I am pleased to see is looking a little happier at the news. I take hold of the child's face and gently guide it back to me. But not yet, I say. The child nods.
Lana, being a sweet little girl, says she is sorry.
I say that is the sign of a very good little girl, remembering to say sorry when she is smacked. But she must also say something else. Lana looks confused as she searched for what she might say. I say: would you like mommy to tell you? The child nods, glad someone can help her.
You must remember to say thankyou, says the mother, but looking guilty as she remembered she hadn't when she was punished. I look at the woman who blushes and says thankyou to Lana for spitting in her mouth. I nod but purse my lips as I do so, as if to say I haven't forgotten your error, mother.
The child asks me if her mommy had been naughty. I say even good mommies need to be punished, and the child seems cheerful at that idea. She says her friend Naomi's mommy should be punished as she cusses. Yes, I reply, I expect she does. But even if she didn't cuss, she would still need punishment.
I turn Lana round and examine her back. I tell her to put her hands on her head to make it easier for me. I also say, can you see your mommy? Lana says yes. I ask her to tell me how her mommy looks, describe her to me. As I run my hands over the child's bare back and bubble butt, spreading her cheeks apart a little, working my finger between the cute butt cheeks, I hear Lana saying how her mommy is sitting hands behind back and legs apart and wearing her slip and bra and panties and garter belt but nothing else. I ask Lana what color her mommy's bra is and she says white. I ask her what color her mommy's panties are and she says red. I say, isn't that why mommy should be punished?
Lana gurgles a laugh and says yes. Then Lana gives a little cry as my finger works right between her ass cheeks and rubs against that tight little rose that is her asshole. I am just about to ease my forefinger into it when there is a knock at the compartment door.
The Conductor enters, asking to see our tickets. He is an old man, close to retirement and I figure he has seen many things on his trains over the years. On the other hand, he may not have encountered as scene quite like this. Me, dressed the way I am and the child bare and mother as good as naked.
The man raises an eyebrow as he takes in the scene but says nothing, briefly weighing me up and noting that I am clearly in charge. I imagine he has experienced moments like this before, and knows what to do. Silently slips his cock out and offers it to the woman. Brenda is blushing at being found like this and looks at me in alarm. I merely nod that she should continue, and the woman leans forward to dutifully take the offered dick.
She opens her mouth and closes it on the man's old cock. She may be revolted to have such a thing between her lips, but they close on it as if doing so would please me, giving me the merest glance to see if I approve. Which I do.
No doubt astonished at seeing adults behave like this, Lana stares as she sees her mother suck in the old man's cock. It emerged semi-erect but is now at full stiffness as it saws in an out of the woman's mouth, the veiny shaft shiny with saliva. The man has one hand on the mother's head to steady her but soon her grips her hair tightly and begins to face fuck the woman, saliva dribbling from her ravaged lips.
Noting the woman still has her hands behind her, and listening to the Conductor start to call the woman names like cock-sucking slut and cheap whore, I take the opportunity to stimulate the child, slipping my fingers back down to her slit and rubbing her pussy in rhythm of the old man's face fucking. As he gets faster, climax approaching, I work my hand faster. I also reach round the child with my free hand and massage one of her tiny nipples, feeling it harden under my careful ministrations.
The man's verbal abuse of the woman on the end of his dick is amusing, and the noise the woman is making as the long, thin cock was plunging into her throat is a delight too. Lana whimpers with the pleasure I am giving her. Lana moans as we watch, the girl fascinated by what she sees her mother doing to the old man. Although I match the speed of the old man's thrusts into her mother's mouth I continue rubbing as I see the old man pull his cock from the woman's mouth and jet his semen over her face and lips. Brenda, to her credit, merely keeps her face in place as the man empties himself over her.
Lana is still moaning in excitement as she watches and I toy with her cunny, and did so as the man nods to me in thanks and put his cock away, leaving the compartment and shutting the door behind him. The mother sits back, a glazed look in her eyes at what has happened and semen dripping from her chin on to her heaving bust. I can see her nipples show hard though the thin fabric of her slip and bra cups and imagine she wants to masturbate herself, especially as she can see what I am doing to her daughter.
I whisper to Lana she can tell her mommy to finger herself, and the girl repeats it perfectly. Brenda grins at the instructions from her daughter and proceeds to plunge one hand inside her panties and use the other to tease her own nipples. In a few moments the woman is arching her back as she approaches a climax, eyes closed and a line of white semen running from her chin to her bust.
I only stop teasing Lana's slender little body when her mother has achieved a noisy and satisfied orgasm. The mother slumps back, hands at her side, eyes closed as she shook with repeated pulses or pleasure. I let go of the child. For now at least.
Lana stands shivering - mostly with excitement but not a little fear. Perhaps she imagines the old man will return and she too will have to drink semen. I could ask her but I don't. I smile, noting the woman now has her eyes open and is looking at me, as if to say what now?
I order the woman to pick up one of her stockings and tie the child's hands behind her back. Brenda looks startled but does as she's told, telling the girl to hold still while she binds her wrists in back.
The girl makes some bleating noises, asking about why is she being tied up, so I tell the mother to push her panties into the child's mouth to stop her talking.
Brenda, stupidly, says she can't as she's wearing them. I tell her that she can remove them, can she not? Brenda blushes as if to say, of course. She leaves her daughter standing, swaying with the movement of the train, between the seats as she stands herself.
Lana, wide-eyed, watches her cum-stained mother lift her slip and slide her panties down. For a moment the child sees her mother's heavily-furred cunt. I tell the child she will be seeing more of that soon. Brenda blushes and Lana has a small smirk on her face. She says, that's naughty, isn't it?
No, I say. Seeing cunts isn't naughty. I tell the child to repeat the word cunt, which she does. Then I indicate that as the child is speaking the word over and over, the panties should be pushed into Lana's mouth. They go in and the child looks surprised that there is a taste to them. I tell the mother to tell her child these pants must not be removed until she is allowed to take them out.
Lana, her cheeks bulging and a little of the red lace between her teeth, nods. I tell her to repeat the word cunt again, and her little muffled voice does so. Then I tell the mother to untie her child's hair ribbons and use them to bind round the girl's head to keep the panties in as a more efficient gag. Brenda does so and the child holds still while her mother properly gags her.
I tell the woman to now tie Lana's knees together with the other stocking, which she does. Then I say the child must stand facing the window and watch the countryside and small towns passing. She must stand pressed to the window, and this makes her shiver.
The mother doesn't know, now she has positioned her child against the window, what to do. She stands and looks at me, seeking permission to sit. I nod, and the woman does so, remembering to spread her legs so I can see her hairy twat, moisture glistening on the hairs.
For a good ten minutes - perhaps longer - I sit back, relishing the view of the submissive mother and her bound daughter, enjoying their collective humiliation. Brenda shoots some desperate looks towards her child, wondering if she is okay where she is sliding against the window, sometimes trembling against it as the train hurries on.
Occasionally the train races through a small station or past a crossing without stopping and people on the outside flash past. I am sure some of them will have seen a naked ten year old, gagged with blue ribbons, standing against one window. I imagine they will blink and wonder if they saw correctly.
After a while the woman begs to asks me a question. I grant her request. She asks, nervously: what will you do with us?
I will do nothing I say. It is what you are doing to herself and her daughter that counts. Brenda understands that she has not been coerced into any of this and nods. She asks permission to masturbate. I say no, not yet. She should put her hands on her head and wait. Brenda does, biting her lip in obvious frustration at her desires, at the sight of her bound and gagged naked child against the window.
Presently I indicate the woman may move. This time however she must, I tell her, use the thin belt on her blue skirt to whip the child's ass and legs. The woman moans in shock and, I believe, suppressed lust. I imagine she has often thought of beating her child and now she is aroused.
May I, she asks me, masturbate after I have beaten Lana?
The child is looking over her shoulder at me in fear on hearing this, though she hasn't moved. I say to the child, nod if you want your mommy to play with her hairy cunt once she has beaten you. I am not sure the child understands quite what all this means, but she nods. There, I tell Brenda, you have your daughter's permission to finger yourself, so thank your child.
Thankyou, Lana, says the woman. She picks the belt out of her skirt and stands, bracing herself. The woman asks me: Which end shall I use on her?
I counter: Which end will hurt her more?
The woman nods and holds the end without the buckle. Although the buckle is plastic and therefore unlikely to do much damage, the importance here is that the woman accepts the idea that this is no ordinary thrashing of her child. On my gesture she begins to beat her child, using her free hand to hold Lana hard to the window.
The train goes through a station, and people there have a tantalizing but all too brief glimpse of a woman in her underwear, clearly beating a bound and gagged naked child. I watch as the woman delivers a good ten blows to the child's butt and legs, Lana wriggling and screaming into her gag. Vivid red marks snap into life across the child's back, the child's screams and pleas muffled by the gag and the noise of the train.
To my satisfaction the woman calls her child a little cunt and a whore as she beats her.
I tell Brenda to stop after the tenth stroke. The woman looks at me, still holding the howling, sobbing child to the glass. She is waiting for an instruction to continue. She looks flushed and excited by what's she's doing, her nipples hard under the thin fabric of her slip. I tell her to sit down and allow Lana to sit next to her.
The woman sits, the child does so too, tears and snot falling from her face. I tell Brenda to ungag the child, which she does. I also tell the woman to lick the tears and mucus off the girl's face. Brenda does this with a passion, taking the opportunity to kiss her daughter quite lasciviously. It is not my instruction, but I allow her this.
Brenda is then told to unfasten Lana's knee bond, and the stocking is removed. This, I say, should now be used to tied the child's elbows in back. The mother does so, binding the still sobbing child's arms securely so her little elbows are almost touching. Lana is then told to sit with her legs apart - by the mother and not by me - so I can see the child's hair-free slit. I tell the mother to finger her daughter, which she does.
The woman looks at me as she does so and I tell her as she has one finger in her daughter she can quite easily use her other hand to amuse herself. The woman grins and does so, fingering her daughter and herself at the same time. Lana stops sobbing and her breathing changes. Despite the lingering pain from her severe beating she is clearly growing excited by her mother's surprisingly skilled fingers. I settle back to watch, content that the two are enjoying their sexual play.
After a moment I ask if the woman has done this before to her daughter. No, she replies. But she has dreamed of it.
And tying her up? Yes, says Brenda, that too. The mother adds: and gagging her too.
Beating her? All the time, says the woman, both aroused and embarrassed by her confessions. Lana I note as this is said starts to moan louder, though her mother is working her finger into her daughter's cunt with gusto.
I ask Lana if she enjoys this fingering. The child looks troubled. I tell her she must tell me, so the girl nods. She looks guilty at admitting it, but I tell her thank her mother by kissing her. The two females opposite me exchange a number of open mouthed french kisses. Some of the drying semen still on the woman's face is transferred to the girl's face.
I tell them to stop kissing. They both look at me in a quiet desperation as they want more of each other. I ask the girl if she wants to be tied up more by her mother. Without hesitation she says yes.
It is her mother's turn to look startled. In shock she stops playing with herself and her daughter: she has discovered something she never knew about her child. I tell her I have not given her permission to stop playing with herself or her child and she resumes.
I ask Brenda if she wants to tie Lana up more and beat her. She says she does. Lana, on cue, moans.
I ask Lana if she likes being bound and gagged and whipped, and she nods. I tell her to say it out loud and she does. Yes, she says, I want to be tied up.
And gagged? I ask. The girl says she does. I tell the child to ask her mother to gag her, and she does. The mother responds by stopping fingering her daughter (and herself) picking up the makeshift gag lying beside her daughter on the seat and fastening it back in the child's mouth.
Then I tell the child to lie down on the seat, face up so the mother can straddle her child's gagged face. The mother understands and in a moment has her wet cunt over the girl's face, rubbing herself up and down so Lana's cute nose and gagged mouth are working against the sopping wet sex of the woman. I cannot see clearly as the woman's slip has fallen over her daughter's face so I tell her to lift it clear with one hand. Now I can see the child's face disappearing into the woman's hairy twat, and can clearly determine when the attendant groans and wet sounds are made by the dripping cunt on the girl's face.
I tell Brenda her daughter will be in some discomfort from being tied like she is and with the weight of the woman on her face. Brenda, blushing, admits she is holding herself up. I tell her to lower herself from time to so she is smothering the child with her cunt. She nods agreement and does it. Lana wriggles and fights at the weight on her face and the lack of oxygen, so I indicate Brenda should raise herself a little and let the child breathe and then lower herself again.
This pattern repeats itself for a while. Then I tell Brenda she must reach forward and play with her daughter's small slit when she sits. In this way the child has pleasure to go with her panic of being smothered by her own lust filled mother. Ah yes, mother and smother: I smile at the closeness of the words.
Eventually I tell the mother to remove herself from the child and then concentrate on licking her daughter's bare sex, which looks red from the way the woman rubbed it. Brenda happily positions herself and begins to tongue the girl, lapping eagerly. I note she positions herself so I have a clear view of her tongue lapping at her child's slit, even probing into it. Lana meanwhile shudders at every invasion and wriggles in her bonds. The child's moans are getting louder, her little hips jerking.
I can see too that Lana's face is glistening with her mother's juices. This pleases me and I remark on it to Brenda, who stops lapping at her child's cunny to say she is happy it pleases me.
I allow the tonguing to continue for a few minutes and can see the child is rapidly approaching an elementary climax. Certainly her small nipples are rock hard and I tell the mother to pinch them as she licks. However, I soon tell Brenda to stop everything as I do not want the child having too much pleasure. Indeed, the mother's next task is to lash the child's front - and in particular those hard little nipples - with her belt.
Lana sobs as her mother pulls away from licking and teasing, and sobs more as she sees her mother take position with the belt again. Once more the buckle is in the right place. At my command the mother begins to beat her child, aiming blows at the helpless girl's belly, hips and chest. Lana wisely turns her face away in case a stray lash strikes her there, but I am pleased to see she has turned it towards me so I can better see her pain and tears.
After some dozen blows I tell Brenda to stop. The muffled howls from the child cease shortly after the last blow. The mother's next task, as we are not far from our destination now and must proceed quickly, is to use the belt to bind her daughters legs to her body. The mother does not understand quite how to do this so I point out that she must lift and push back Lana's legs so her upper legs are against her punished chest and pass the belt under the child's back and up to the back of the child's knees, where it can be buckled. This leaves the child on her back with her knees to her chin and her lower legs waving uselessly above her.
On my orders the mother removes her daughter's socks, which once were pure white but now have the soles dirty from standing on the compartment floor. I tell the mother to remove her daughter's gag and replace it with the balled up socks. Lana screws her face up as the dirty socks are pressed in and her cheeks bulge even more than before. The mother wisely ties the socks in the girl's mouth using the ribbons.
I tell Brenda to remove her garter belt and use it to beat the soles of Lana's feet. This is not a very effective whip but it has a certain painful aspect and snaps noisily against the girl's bare feet. It is brutal enough to make the child scream out into her new gag. I allow the woman to beat her daughter's feet for several minutes, noting that the elasticized garter straps have their own unpredictable viciousness and even snap back to hurt the woman's hands.
Once I am satisfied that she has hurt her child enough I tell the woman to fasten the garter belt round her daughter's neck and again, round the child's legs behind her knees. Brenda asks me if she may take advantage of licking her daughter's snatch again as it looks so inviting but I say no. She must sit and merely look at it, though she may finger herself to orgasm, which Brenda does enthusiastically while listening to the quite sobs of her punished and pained daughter.
I tell Brenda that as she fingers her own cunt she must remind the child that she will be punished more severely in future, and use words like cunt and ass and tits and fuck and torture and bondage. The mother does this with relish and soon has her tortured child moaning in fear and delight. I sit and listen to this pleasantly evil monolog, watching the woman finger herself as well as the look of terrified anticipation on the girl's face.
Just before Brenda cums I order to her to stop. She looks at me and a brief look of anger flickers over her face at being denied what would probably be a wonderful orgasm. I tell her that she must remember who is in charge and she must apologize to me. She immediately realizes her error and at my instruction kneels in front of me and begs, as I have insisted, on my forgiveness. I say I do forgive her, after I have slapped her face. This time though she remembers to say thankyou, and smiles despite her sore, red cheek.
I tell the mother to resume her submissive position. For a second the woman looks puzzled and then remembers it is legs apart, hands behind back. She does it as quickly as she can, hoping no doubt that I do not interpret her poor memory as disobedience. I settle back in my seat and regard the two females: the child, bound and gagged and crying a little now from her beating, the mother sat waiting for the next pleasure - or humiliation. I tell the mother that she has done quite well but she still has much to learn.
The woman looks downcast and nods sadly. I tell the woman that soon she will be in sole charge of punishing and binding her daughter, which must be done to the highest standards. Brenda however looks startled and enquires if she may ask a question. I indicate she may do so. The mother wants to know if I will see them again. I smile and shake my head. I tell her that I have much work to do and this is merely one small part of a longer journey - for us all.
Brenda blurts out that she doesn't want me not to be there in her life, that she and her daughter need me to administer their beatings and punishments. I can detect tears in the woman's eyes, a fear that she may be left alone. I console her and say that she must practice binding and gagging her daughter, teach her to appreciate pain and pleasure and of course, to experience pleasure herself from what she does to the child. The mother bravely nods, saying she will try. I am pleased to note that Brenda has not broken position in out talk and remark on it, saying that is what she must teach her daughter too.
The woman says she will do her best to punish Lana and make her obey no matter how severe or seemingly unfair. Little Lana must do what is deemed necessary by the mother. Satisfied this will happen, I stand to leave the compartment. I tell Brenda I will go to another part of the train before we arrive at the next station. I tell the woman she must wait for five minutes after I leave and then she may get dressed before untying her child and allowing Lana to dress. However Lana must wear her gag until the very last moment. Brenda says she understands.
Once more the woman asks will she see me again, perhaps hoping I will change my mind. But I say no she will not see me. I take one last look at the submissive mother, the punished and bound child sobbing quietly into her gag and step outside, closing the compartment door behind me. In the corridor outside I see the conductor returning, this time with a male who looks about the same age as himself. They have that look in their eyes (and each with a bulge at their pants front) that tells me they are about to visit Brenda and Lana. The old man tips his peaked cap at me as a gesture of respect and they step aside to let me pass. I cannot be sure, but the other man has something that looks like rope in his hand. I smile as I pass them: Brenda and Lana are so lucky they will be made to stay longer on the train. Perhaps the next station is theirs, perhaps not. But it doesn't matter how long their journey is providing they have pleasure and pain.
However I won't be going any further. In ten minutes or so I will step off the train, and I expect draw a few looks from other passengers. Whatever they may think doesn't matter, for I am just another nun going about her business.
Review this story: