BEYOND TIED FOR PUNISHMENT

BY YOCOPYCAT

After reading Tied for Punishment, you may think that I only made
up reasons for my husband Paul to spank our daughter Jessica so that
I could enjoy the way it inspired him to have great sex with me.
But that is not the whole picture and gives a limited view of our
home life. For instance, after the time when she was nearly eight
and gave Paul a really hard time taking her jeans off, I banned
her from wearing jeans - she looked so much cuter around the
house in flimsy short dresses. And I let her really grow out of
them before wasting money on new ones.

It also meant that another of the habits I developed began to be
more effective. If she made a mistake early in the day, which
meant that she would be spanked that night, I made her take off
her panties and hang them on a special little hook I screwed into
the wall by the fireplace. Then they were ready to hand when I
used them to gag her, as had become necessary now that Paul was
letting himself go more: Paul is a pretty strong guy and has
become an enthusiastic spanker.

You should also understand that Jessica is not Paul's natural
child. We nearly split up when he found out I was pregnant
immediately after we were married, and I think we have both held
it against her. I certainly do, innocent as she is, there are
times when I actually hate her for the unfortunate accident she
was. It absolutely wrecked my honeymoon! Is that an excuse for
the callous way we have come to treat her as a mere instrument to
improve our sex life? Probably not, but I thought you should
know. Maybe it is lucky that beating her inspires Paul with
thoughts of me, fucking me, otherwise she might be in danger of
rape. Will that happen later? Would I be really turned on
watching that and encourage it as an amusing diversion, or would
I protest? Not hard I think - to protest too hard would not
become a submissive. We shall see, no doubt, sooner or later.

Let me give you a typical day from that period. This is a few
weeks after we had started to tie her up and gag her for
punishment.

I go to her room and unlock the door - I keep her locked in at
night as it is nice to think of her as a prisoner. Even that
makes me damp at times, although of course it is quite
unnecessary. She jumps out of bed and stands at attention,
revolving slowly, so I can see if she needs a shower. She has a
really delightful little body and a very spankable bottom and her
deportment has become excellent. This small routine gives me
quite a lot of pleasure. I have her school clothes with me and
throw them on the bed, then leave without a word.

When she returns from school she changes into her about-the-house
dress and turns on the TV. I try to make her life enjoyable, of
course. She has her pets and her TV and lots of games and
whatever food she asks for. In fact, apart from her punishments,
which she seems to accept as normal, she led a pretty ordinary
life at that time. We did not want thoughts of running away
arising in that pretty little head, did we? One thing she was
really attached to was her kitten, which came to watch TV with
her.

She sits cross-legged on the floor in front of the telly, bolt
upright as I have taught her. All goes well for a couple of
hours, then some advertisements come on the screen and what I
have been waiting for happens. Her posture slackens a little for
an instant. "Jennifer!" I shout and she straightens guiltily. She
knows she is for it now. She jumps up and stands at attention
before me. She is trying not to cry. I need not say any more, she
knows the routine. She looks at me, then takes off her panties
and hangs them on the hook, sobbing uncontrollably.

"Jennifer," I say, quite gently now, "you know your father does
not like a crybaby. Go and dry your eyes and get ready for bed,
then you may come down and watch some more TV."

When she comes down she is of course wearing only her see-through
shortie nightgown, no panties in bed - it was short for her a
couple of years ago and now is about waist length. I keep her
bedroom warm so that she does need (or have!) any covering - I
like to look in when she is sleeping and gloat a little. I keep
this room nice and warm, too. It is the room we use most, we even
eat in it. I do a very light make-up on her face, a little
eye-shadow, a touch of lipstick and so forth. I know Paul will
enjoy beating her all the more if she looks alluring. I brush her
hair also, put it into pigtails, which he sometimes likes to hold
on to, and add a couple of ribbons. She looks quite grown-up now,
in a provocative way.

She squats again watching TV, her back to the door of the room,
which I leave slightly open. Paul enjoys surprising her. Here he
is. His eyes light up when he sees the panties on the hook and he
gazes at 'his' daughter in lustful admiration.

"Hullo dear," he says to me with a big kiss of appreciation. He
carries a small parcel which he puts on the table. Jessica
springs up in agitation and stands at attention before us. "What
has the stupid little brat done now?"

"Poor deportment," I say.

"That serious, eh?" He turns to Jessica and smacks her across the
face. She does not move. He smacks the other way. Still she does
not move. "Well, brat?" he thunders.

She flinches but does not move. She knows that would anger him,
she is well trained by now. "I am very sorry, father," she says.
That sounds strange from one so young, but it is what she has
been taught. "Please do not spank me tonight, father. Please,
please, please." She clutches him round the hips and slides down
to kneel at his feet, her lips pressed to the undoubted bulge in
his trousers. I say nothing. I just ignore such indecent
behaviour, as it turns me on pretty good and I know I shall be
the one to benefit from it.

"Well, it is rather a serious offense." He is touselling her hair
as he appears to ponder, but does not try to move her away.
"Would you rather be spanked tomorrow?"

"Yes," she says, looking up tearfully. "Oh yes." I often wonder
why she always says that - surely the anticipation will make it
worse? Then again, she will quite possibly be beaten tomorrow
anyway. Maybe she takes that into account.

"Up!" he says. Nothing else. This is a device he often uses. Let
her worry about whether she is to be beaten tonight or tomorrow.
Even we do not know at this stage. We are already pretty well
worked up and an actual beating may or may not be desirable. Paul
has already beaten her twice this week, after all, and seldom
does so three times. I fetch him a glass of wine and soon we
start dinner, whilst Jennifer stands beside the table between,us
quivering with fright, legs wide apart with her hands clasped on
top of her head, mouth ever so slightly parted, bolt upright of
course.

"Has the brat been good today, apart from her deportment?" Paul
asks.

"Oh yes, not bad at all, for a spoiled little brat. But
deportment is so important, don't you think?"

"Oh yes indeed, very important - and she has been warned?"

"Of course, many times - in fact you have punished her for it
before." Frequently, in fact. It was the easiest excuse for
punishment I had.

"Oh yes, of course." He turned to Jennifer, and reached out to
fondle her. "That makes it worse then!" He smiled cruelly as she
flinched away from his intrusive fingers. He was getting bolder
every week, I thought. "I bought some slippers for you, Jennifer
dear," he said, starting to unwrap the parcel he had brought with
him. I saw her eyes turn to the parcel and light up. He had
called her Jennifer and bought her a present! Her father liked
her! She watched eagerly as he opened it.

He drew out a pair of heavy brown slippers with stiff leather
soles. Men's slippers! He took one and brought it down hard in
his other hand, making a most satisfying slapping noise and
making Jennifer jump and put her fingers to her rosebud of a
mouth.

"I thought they would come in handy for punishing this sniveling
brat," he said to me, giving her a pinch in her most sensitive
place. "Slippers are easier to hold than PingPong bats, so I
should be able to hit harder." He fondled her again, continuing
to do so as she pulled back but did not dare to move her feet.
"And aim better!" Another pinch before he turned back to the
soup.

Jennifer stood there stiff as a ramrod as we ate, each of us
fondling her now and then. She was trying hard not to cry, but
the occasional drop overflowed and rolled down her cheek as our
meal neared its end and Paul played more and more with the
slipper.

Now Paul sipped his coffee, first taking Jennifer over his lap,
bottom up. She was clasping each elbow with the opposite hand, as
she had been taught for that position - it was not really
necessary to tie her these days, though we usually did. Paul was
stroking her smooth tanned bottom thoughtfully with the slipper.
I mean tanned in the sense of being a nice brown color, not
frequently beaten. It was both, because I made her sunbathe in
the nude in the back garden during school holidays, being sure
she became evenly brown all over.

Jennifer went rigid with anticipation when she heard Paul put
down his coffe cup and sensing him raise the slipper. She had
never learnt that it was better to relax. Her small body was
rigid but squirming, if you understand me.

"It will be fun finding out how much this slipper will hurt,"
Paul said, one hand raised, the other beneath her now. There was
a look of lust on his face. Fingers at her sex? I have wondered
if the delightful way she squirms is not entirely down to the
spanking, and it could not be at this moment: it was a thought
that turned me on even more.

"How will we find out if I gag her?" I asked.

"Well, if it hurts as much more than the bat as I expect it will,
she will certainly need gagging," he said. "At the very least it
should be adequate for punishment." He paused and she squirmed
even more delightfully. "Now or tomorrow," he added casually,
like someone who is not in any great hurry. "That is the
question."

"Well it is not now or tomorrow," I said. "It is now or later
tonight or tomorrow. The little slut cannot lock her bedroom,
remember. In fact, as it is at the back of the house we need not
bother with the gagging. It might be nice to hear the little
bitch for a change?"

We looked at each other. We had never considered that, and in any
case our immediate needs had become overwhelming. "OK!" Paul
said, setting Jennifer on her feet with a friendly slap on the
rump. "Off to bed with you, young lady - hey, give your Mother
and I a nice kiss first."

Paul and I were grappling frantically and rolling about on the
conveniently thick rug by the fireplace even before Jennifer was
out of the door.

******

Bedwetting

I suppose my daughter Jessica was over nine years old when she
began wetting her bed. It infuriated my husband Paul, who needs
little excuse to take his belt to her bare bottom at the best of
time.

He beats her with my full encouragement, of course. Abusing our
power over Jessica has become an essential factor in our own
lovemaking this last two years or so - when Paul comes straight
to my bed from beating 'his' daughter, the results are
spectacular, our enjoyment volcanic. I say 'his' because Jessica
is not his natural daughter - she is the child of rape, hated by
me for it, and deeply resented by Paul. Paul is a dominant, with
more than a touch of sadism thrown in, I fancy, and I am a
submissive turned on by seeing other people's pain or
humiliation. Pity this unfortunate child, then, still at an age
when she is under the absolute and total disposal of rogue
parents such as Paul and I.

The bedwetting began like this -

Sex between Paul and I was flagging a little at that time. His
enthusiasm for fucking me depended entirely on how strongly
beating the brat, as we called Jessica, fanned his sexual flames.
He had started using his belt on her, but the initial success of
this was wearing pretty thin after only a few months. That was
quite a disappointment to me, as tying her down to her bed ready
for his return from work and laying the belt, ready for his use,
neatly upon her flinching little buttocks, did wonders for me.
She has a big bed, not a child's bed - how proud she was when we
bought it for her.

Having found some fault with her, poor deportment was the
easiest, I would march her up the steep stairs to her bedroom by
the ear and have her take off her flimsy little apology for a
dress. I had not bought her any panties recently, as Paul and I
preferred her without them, so the scrap of a dress was all she
wore around the house. I kept her room warm at all times as she
was so often in it. She would move the pillow down the bed, then
lie down arse up with the pillow under her hips to raise her
bottom for Paul's convenience and I would secure her ankles to
the bedposts. We had put fixtures so that it was easy to do this.
We could adjust how wide apart her legs were held, and I
preferred her ankles really tight to the posts, allowing Paul a
great choice of target. I had noticed that he was getting less
shy about where he hit her. Sometimes I also secured her wrists
to the top bedposts, which had similar fixtures. The room was at
the back of the house, looking out over our extensive back garden
and green hills beyond, so noise was not really an issue. There
was a paved yard immediately beneath the windows, a long drop. I
kept reminding myself to have bars fitted. Nobody to hear if she
screamed, but I usually gagged her anyway: I kept a pair of old
knickers for that purpose, and tied them in place very securely
with ribbon, as I enjoyed how much she hated that. The earlier in
the day I did all this, the longer she had to wait, the more it
turned me on. We had removed the door from her bedroom, and it
was amusing to creep back now and then to see how she jumped,
thinking Paul was home.

When he did come home, Paul would come up with me to the bedroom
to inspect Jessica. "What has the little brat done this time?" he
would say, fingering her she lay there, so vulnerable. "She had
the TV on too loud," I would say. Or: "Her hands were dirty." Or:
"She dropped crumbs on the carpet." Or whatever triviality I had
invented that day. "Let her up," Paul would say, "let me hear
from the sniveling little brat." He would sit on the edge of the
bed with his legs open so that she could stand between them,
hands behind her back. "Well brat," he would say, "is this true?"
"Yes Father," would come the tremulous reply. She dare not say
anything else! "Please forgive me!" She would lean forward to
give him a kiss on the mouth and after pulling her trembling body
to him and enjoying her for a while he would push her away
violently, so she fell to the floor. "Dirty slit eye!" he would
shout. Often he dragged her to her feet by the hair and knocked
her down again, sometimes several times, shouting at her about
what a useless little bitch she was, not even able to kiss
properly.

"Get the little shit ready for punishment," he would say at last.
Then I would fix her again as she had been before. He would walk
around her and finger her, maybe use the belt a few times, spread
her legs a little wider. Then he would make the same joke: "I'll
be back later, brat - don't go away!" The only variation was what
he called her - he thought of many things worse than brat! This
way we got an early rouser and could time her beatings for just
before our own bedtime, with spectacular results. It meant that
Jess was left tied all night, which gave her more time to reflect
on the disadvantages of being naughty and thus added value to her
punishment.

Well, one Friday, I put into action a plan I had been brooding
on. I kept on giving Jess drinks all that morning. When she
refused at last, I slapped her face and shouted at her. "You
ungrateful little cow! I made that delicious drink specially for
you! Your father will be very very angry!"

I seized her by an ear straight away, and marched her up the
stairs, howling. She struggled much more than usual, but I had
her prepared and waiting for Paul well before lunchtime. He would
not be home until late that evening, and then came the weekend
when he would be mine all the time. As would Jessica! I was
thinking of her as an object now, not as a daughter. She was
almost worth that terrible rape. It was a Japanese gang-bang,
something I am still terribly ashamed of. I am afraid her bad
ancestry is beginning to show in Jessica - she certainly looks
nothing like Paul or I. I had no Motherly thoughts for this
strangely exotic little stranger I had so reluctantly carried,
never have had. I felt the seed of the man was soiling me more
and more as it grew. I very nearly went for an abortion, but it
would have been against my religion, everything my parents and
the Church had drummed into me. Why do I write down all this
stuff now and not earlier in my story? I think it is because I
had not faced up to my true feelings for Jessica until her
constant punishment got out of hand and I started to wonder what
sort of Mother would allow that, never mind encourage it.

Anyway, this Friday I secured her little hands and put in the
gag, and found an extra pillow to go under her hips and raise
that tender bottom even higher. "Ungrateful little bitch!" I
shouted again, slapping that seductive little brown bottom hard
enough to get her wriggling. "Just you wait for your father to
come home! You are really for it this time young madam, it will
be the greatest hiding of your life, you no-good slit-eye little
pissbag!"

Your life so far, I added to myself. She had had some pretty
fierce beatings already, of course, but I did so hope there was
much worse in store for the little monster. Knowing Paul I was
pretty sure there would be. It would be revenge on her real
father, I thought, if I knew which one of those grinning beasts
it had been. Revenge on the Japanese nation, perhaps. Nothing was
too bad for her. It had always been me pushing Paul along to
become harsher with her, and the time was coming to speed him up
a little. So now you know my depravity is that much greater than
his. He is a reluctant sadist, needing me to draw him forward,
soothe his scruples.

She was already crying when I added a touch I had been thinking
of for some time - I masked her eyes and inserted ear plugs.
Neat, huh? It made me sopping wet just thinking of the little
bitch lying there, hardly able to move, seeing darkness and
listening to nothing, unable to speak, very conscious of her
exposed and obscenely displayed bottom, spread out and waiting
for the first crack of the belt at any moment. And fearing she
was to be beaten harder than ever before. The greatest hiding of
your life I had said, and I am sure she expected that it would
be. For someone who had been beaten as hard as she had, that must
be a real scary thought.

Every little while I came in and touched her. How she jumped!
There was a lot of wriggling and silent crying as well, which I
really like to see.

I wondered how soon she would wet herself. It happened long
before Paul was due home. I came in to find her peeing, unable to
stop, already drenched in it. I took her earplugs out. "Now!" I
said, watching the golden stream spurting out, "now you have
really done it! That is absolutely shameful! Your father may well
beat you for it every day for a week. Or a month! He might even
beat you to death! And good riddance of a dirty little slit-eye
who doesn't trouble to control herself, I say. He will be home
quite soon now!" She was sobbing as I put the earplugs back.

Of course I would not allow Paul to go that far, the little brat
was far too useful alive and healthy. What a triumph, though! I
suspected that this would really get him going in a way I had
never seen before, and so it did. He glared at the drenched
pillows in very genuine outrage. Off the top of the Richter
scale, whatever that is. He really thought it was her fault, and
I was not about to tell him different, then or later. He is
fastidious about hygiene and such matters. Now he had a real
reason to let himself go as I truly believe he had always wanted
to! Nobody could blame him for belting the child for the
unpardonable sin of wetting her bed! I saw the inhibitions
flowing out of him and genuine anger flowing in as he picked up
the heavy leather belt. He thrashed her just as she was, on and
on and on, really savagely, as if she were the bag of shit he had
called her, and she could do absolutely nothing except squirm
about. The beating seemed to go on for ever - and then - he threw
away the belt and wrenched out her gag - seized me - and WOW! our
lovemaking on her bed rolling all over her writhing little body
was utterly fantastic. Her heart-broken sobbing and moaning was
music to our ears, a spur to greater lust.

After a while, we went to our own room to couple again. And again
and again. We slept all the better for knowing that the little
brat would still be there in the morning, tied down, helpless and
waiting for us to carry on where we had left off or do whatever
else to her that we chose, nobody to say we should not do this or
that to her, and, I hoped, all Paul's inhibitions gone.

After breakfast, we went to look at our handiwork. The beautiful
little olive-brown body lay stretched out face down on the bed,
still twitching a little. The color of her skin was partly due to
the times when I pegged her out in the sun, but I have to admit
that she had never been fully white. That was a legacy from her
hated Jap blood. An unwanted half-caste slit-eye, that's all this
poor creature was to me until she became a valuable spanking toy.
She was born with a mop of black hair, and, in retrospect, I
think I hated her even then, though I have only begun to admit
that to myself recently.

Her bottom was a real mess. I rubbed in some cream that was
supposed to banish bruising. It seemed to sting, at any rate it
made her wriggle a lot even when I stood back to watch. So I
rubbed in some more - it was enough to turn Paul and I on again -
we left her as she was while we went back to bed.

It was several hours later when we stood at her bedside again.
She was still twitching a little, but the bruising was distinctly
less noticeable.

Paul picked up the belt and drew it up the inside of one
spread-out leg, then right up the other. She went absolutely
tense and started to cry. I find it very erotic when she cries
but we hear nothing because of the gag, which I had now replaced.

"Now?" he asked, doubling up the belt, which was a new departure.

I was tempted, but I had a better idea.

"Leave her," I said. "She is healing nicely. Let's see how soon
she is clear of bruises."

It was that evening when I went back for her. Her bottom was
greatly improved. I released her and removed the gag and earplugs
and eye mask. She stood up, a bit wobbly, but she did not try to
rub her bottom, just stood to attention. She was learning fast.

"Stop sniveling," I said, slapping her. "Your father has been
very lenient with you so far, you ungrateful little bitch. Never
be ungrateful again! And never never never wet your bed again, it
makes him absolutely furious, you worthless brat. Now, put on
your nightie and come down for your supper."

We let her stand to eat, and I made sure to give her my beer,
when her father wasn't looking. She did not dare to refuse to
drink this time, just slurped it down in a hurry!

"Now, you dirty ungrateful worthless little piece of shit," I
said, "off to bed with you and be grateful your father cannot be
bothered to beat you tonight - and do NOT wet the bed! Little
girls that wet their beds are totally horrible and useless and
disgusting and nobody loves them and they get treated the way
they deserve! Now, give us each a nice kiss and straight to bed."

When Paul had finished with her, I went upstairs with her, and
headed her off from the bathroom. "You can go in the morning," I
said. "What an inconsiderate child you are! There's something on
TV I don't want to miss." I just slapped her harder when she went
on and on about the bathroom. She became very quiet in the end. I
fixed her to the bed again, spread out as widely as before or
maybe a little bit more so. I put on her eye-mask and gagged her.
This time I chose a ball gag - it was just the right size to stop
her talking but allowed a little sound out, as sounds of her
distress turned me on, and did not distort the look of her cheeky
little sliteye face. I left off the earplugs. Sometimes Paul and
I say things I want her to hear.

Paul and I slept well and woke late as was usual on a Sunday
morning, when time was on our side. We had a leisurely breakfast
before visiting Jess. As you can imagine, I was bubbling over
with anticipation, but when we opened the door, disappointment.
She was dry! Paul, of course, saw nothing unusual in that. "Hey!"
he said, feeling her bottom. It was obviously very tender. "This
is still a bit bruised, why don't you turn her over?"

Right, I thought. Sounds good. I undid the wrist and ankle cuffs
and fixed her face up. It was nice to see her terrified little
face for a change instead of her beaten little bottom. The tall
bedposts at the foot of the bed had nothing between them, and
Paul moved round to stand at the foot of the bed and gaze at the
spectacle of her raised bottom and well spread legs. "A little
wider, I think!" So I inched her legs further apart. It was like
she was doing the splits, almost.

Paul ran his hands up and down the insides of her open thighs
once or twice. I saw quiet satisfaction in him at their silky
smoothness and perhaps the way she flinched from him. But he was
not entirely satisfied. "Try raising the ankle cuffs up the
bedposts," he suggested. I did that. We tested various
adjustments until he was quite satisfied with his view as he
looked down between her legs. He resumed his stroking for a
while, then took the belt in one hand and rubbed that against her
puffy slit - there was plenty of room to strike between those
lovely little legs now. I saw her gazing up at him, saw the
convulsive effort she made to close them, but of course she could
not. All her frantic contortions just raised her bottom half an
inch off the pillows and then it sank back.

"Time for a break," said Paul. He put the belt down and lit a
cigarette. "Pity we can't send the brat for some wine."

"I'll fetch us a sherry each," I said.

For a few minutes we sipped our drinks, just savoring the moment
and admiring Jess. She was quivering all over, knowing exactly
what to expect. She looked at me pleadingly for a moment and I
grinned at her. "What a worthless little brat you are, sliteyes,"
I said. "What a little bastard! And half-caste at that. You don't
understand me yet, but one day you will realize what a disgrace
you are. In my opinion your father is too soft with you."

At last Paul took up his position at the foot of the bed again.
He blew on his cigarette to make the tip red, then mimicked
stubbing it out between her legs. Of course he did not do so,
though there was more than the hint of a threat in his action.
Now he raised his belt and slapped it down at maximum strength on
the bed to her left. Then on her right, even harder. "Next one is
for you," he hissed. A despairing shriek escaped her gag as he
slowly raised the belt. Her whole body convulsed as the blow
struck - and the dam burst! A golden torrent jetted fiercely out
of her, all over him. He sprang up too late to avoid it, drenched
by the pent-up force of it. He was steaming, outwardly as well as
inwardly!

"By God!" he thundered, "this is too much! The fucking brat
wouldn't even wait five minutes for us to let her go! All she
need do was ask. Why didn't she go before she went to bed? Why
didn't she ask you this morning?" I nearly pointed to the gag,
but decided not to. It was not obtrusive, but obvious enough if
he had not been so excited. "Think you can piss on me, do you,
you fucking little scumbag whore? Well, here's what I think of
you." He urinated all over her. "That's what you are worth, you
bloody little shitbag, so expect no mercy from me from now on!"
He was raging as he left the room. "By God, she's really for it
now!"

Jess lay there shaking with fright. I removed the gag and
released her. I slapped her about a bit and told her to clean
herself up and then come downstairs in her nightie to be
punished. We liked her in that, as it was an old one and didn't
come down much beyond her waist. No panties at night, of course.

When she came down I sent her to the corner while we had a snack.
I made her stand facing us with her hands on her head. Just
seeing her distress as she stood there was a big turn-on. When I
called her over she came close very reluctantly. What a glorious
hour we had as she stood trembling before us, still with her
hands on her head. The sight of her in her nightie was always a
turn-on, somehow it made her seem more defenseless than when she
was naked. We explained to her at length, once again, with plenty
of shouting and slapping, that only worthless little girls wet
their beds, that it was dirty and thoroughly disgusting, and that
those who did it must be punished real hard. Really really hard,
said Paul, because it is your own stupid fault, you are just a
fucking little whore and I just found out how to hit a fucking
little whore where it hurts, didn't I? She nodded woefully,
understanding only too well, and I told her to go and lie on her
bed in the position she had been in before. There should be no
need to tie you down, I said, just use your hands to hold your
legs apart for Paul. She was very good, I have to say. Paul
certainly proved that he knew how to punish a whore that night.
We only used restraint from about half way through when she ran
to the window and tried to jump out. Fortunately Paul grabbed her
in time, and now it has bars.

I delighted in her agony. I guarantee she will not piss on Paul
again in a hurry! Paul and I reached new heights that night,
heights I had not thought possible before, as we listened to the
sobbing and wailing from her room that went on and on and on like
never before. Paul had said her punishment would be repeated
every Saturday night for a whole month, and I think some of the
cruel things we had said about her were sinking in. Perhaps she
was beginning to realize something of how defenseless against
abuse was a despised and unloved child in this household. I
almost felt sorry for the poor little sod as she sobbed her heart
out. But when Paul and I had had enough of lovemaking and needed
peace and quiet, I went and slapped her and told her to shut up,
which she did at once. It was gratifying that she had come to
fear me as well as Paul.

And, after that night, bedwetting became a habit with Jessica.
Once the next week with a little help from me, twice the week
after, and then it began to happen without any help at all. It
came to happen out of sheer fright of it happening, whether or
not she had drunk too much fluid, whether or not she could use
the bathroom. The more we increased the severity of the
punishment, the more frequently it happened.

Now, Jessica often comes down to breakfast in the morning sobbing
with shame and dread. We no longer need excuses to take our
pleasure of her. On these days Paul has good reason to beat her.
How delicious her good-morning kisses are on those days! And
again, redoubled, in the evening! How Paul and I enjoy them!
Specially Paul when he lifts her to his mouth with his hands on
her much abused buttocks, beneath the very edge of that fetching
little dress that scarcely covers them, and she puts her arms
round his neck and presses her little lips to his in abject
apology. Apparently he has taught her how to use her tongue. That
is when he is most glad I stopped buying panties for her, I
think. Then, a little later, when he lowers her to the floor and
she starts to unzip his trousers, he really gets worked up. I
dare say she will stop kissing and start sucking soon. We did
cancel a beating one time, at my suggestion, but that was just to
give her some hope and encourage her in her frantic efforts. It
really turns me on, watching her try to distract Paul and knowing
that her pitiful efforts at seduction only inspire him to beat
her with fresh relish and renewed vigor and that it is I who will
benefit from that.

****** 

Mondays

As you know, my daughter Jennifer began wetting her bed when she
was nine and a bit years old and after that the life of the
household - Jessica, my husband Paul and I - settled into more of
a routine than before, in that serious punishment of Jess was
reserved for weekends. That was very convenient, because there
was no school and Paul was home all day.

During the week she was sometimes spanked for other
naughtinesses, of course, but for those Paul did not use the
belt, just the slipper. Nor did we tie her down. These were only
mild over-the-knee spankings, and she seldom received more than
two or three in any one week, barely ten minutes each. True, they
were bare bottom, but that was merely because that is how she
presented - he and I preferred her without panties, and she had
no jeans, only very short dresses or sometimes a warm
waist-length jersey instead of the flimsy dress in the winter.
Even these mild punishments were quite a turn-on for me, as her
wriggling little bottom reddened deliciously under the slipper
and she struggled not to cry out or move away or put a hand to
her bottom, any of which would double the punishment. It was
partly the contrast in size, as Paul is a big man and Jess is
small for her age, as might be expected of a half-Japanese
bastard. She is an exotic looking little slant-eyed cheeky-faced
black-haired child of rape, but, praise be, with a very spankable
and well rounded little bottom, freely available to us at any
time of the day as compensation for the trauma I had been
through. Or of the night. I sometimes go into her bedroom just to
admire her too short nightie and give her naked bottom a pinch.

Carrying out these mild spankings did stimulate Paul to the quite
noticeable benefit of our love life. I could of course bring one
about any time I wished by accusing the poor little brat of lack
of respect or poor deportment, against which there was no appeal,
but mostly I managed to resist the temptation. I knew that the
weekend was sure to be highly satisfactory and would be
appreciated by Paul and I all the more for weekday restraint. I
found, however, that a Friday incident put Paul in the mood for
Saturday. Before I realized it, a Friday warm-up spanking had
became a routine prelude to the severe weekend beatings.

If she wet her bed on a weekday, I clasped what I called a
punishment collar round her neck. Over the weekend she would have
as many beatings as she wore collars, three being the maximum -
and my preference! As Saturday grew closer she would become
increasingly restless if there was no collar round her neck. A
wet bed on Saturday morning could be confidently predicted in
such circumstances!

I made the collars myself. They were quite flexible but close
fitting, and I stuck small jewels on them to make them acceptable
as decoration. The clasps were at the back, with tiny locks. To
make them more erotic to me, I added rings as if for a dog lead.
No doubt I would find a use for them later. She could wear all
three collars without a lot of discomfort, so long as she held
her chin up. I wondered if it was necessary to remove them for
school, but decided to risk leaving them on, as they really look
quite respectable. In any case, she knew better than to complain
to a teacher, after what happened the first time, or talk about
spankings to other kids. If she was teased about her collars,
that was her problem. All she had to do was stop wetting the bed.

When she wet her bed she was allowed - indeed required - to come
into ours. She had to creep down to the bottom and then work her
way up the bed between Paul's legs, licking all the way, stopping
when her lips reached his belly-button until he was ready to
spank her for disturbing us. He had a long handled paddle
specially for spanking the child in that position and found it
quite a turn-on. We had some of our best sex with Jess in bed
with us.

For trips to town for shopping or such she wore a short coat
buttoned over the dress or jersey, and sandals. I really enjoyed
taking her around with me, knowing how exposed she was beneath
that short coat. Once the bottom button came off on a windy day,
and that was quite exciting! For school, of course, she wore the
school uniform. We had withdrawn her from gym and sports for fear
of bruises being noticed, so panties were not required at school
either.

One Monday afternoon at the supermarket I noticed a smart elderly
gentleman following us. I was quite flattered until I realized
that his furtive glances were for Jess, not me! He was
undoubtedly attracted by her cheeky exotic face and long legs
beneath the bottom of the brief coat. You may be surprised that
she has long legs in view of her Japanese father. Clearly they
came from me, long for her size, slender and shapely, just enough
meat on the thighs. Real jail bait! And here he came. He ran his
cart into mine. Corny! I thought, but never mind. I might find
some amusement in cultivating a man who looked rich and was
clearly a pedophile.

"Oh I am sorry," he said, bowing to me rather nicely. "Not
looking where I was going! So sorry. And," he said, looking
admiringly at Jess, "you too, please forgive me young lady."

She just gazed at him. She is not allowed to speak to strangers.

"I am afraid Jessica is very shy," I said.

"Oh dear!" he said. "I thought I might ask her if I could take
her picture? I am a photographer, you know."

"Well, what a co-incidence," I said, thinking quickly. "We were
on our way to have a portrait made of her, weren't we, Jessie
dear?" She nodded solemnly. She had no idea what we were talking
about, but she certainly knows better than to contradict her
mother.

"My camera is in my car," he said. "Let me give you ladies a lift
to your home and we can do it there."

His car was top of the range and I went around by bus. I began to
see distinct possibilities in this. The damp patch in his
trousers betrayed the strength of his feelings. If he liked the
little brat's face, good for him. I fancied he would like her
bottom even more.

So he drove us home and parked in the back yard. We entered the
back door and when we reached the living room I said to Jess:
"Give Uncle -"

"Bob," he said quickly. I think he was lying, but no matter.

"Give Uncle Bob a kiss and then go and take your coat off."

"Or the other way round," he said, smiling at her as he sat down.
"Come here child and I will take your coat off."

"Good idea," I said. "Jessie dear, Uncle Bob has come to take
your portrait and he might do it for nothing if you are very nice
to him -" I received an eager nod from Bob. "So do whatever he
tells you to."

He brought her to stand between his legs where he was sitting,
and began to unbutton her coat. As he slipped it off her
shoulders and was confronted by the very short dress he jumped up
in amazement. Delighted amazement. "W-w-why, she has no panties!"
he exclaimed, raising the hem of it.

"Well she's only nine," I said. "I didn't think they were needed
yet. A lot of extra washing, you know, for a single mother. But
if you think - "

"No, no!" he said hurriedly. "I quite agree with you. Absolutely.
Quite unnecessary for another year or two." He cleared his
throat. "You are a single mother, then?"

"Oh yes," I said. "I am all on my own. Jessica came after I was
raped by a gang of Japanese. She is a real problem, the naughty
little brat. Money and discipline for example - "

"Maybe I could help?"

"Which with? Money or discipline?"

"Both, perhaps, if you will be kind enough to allow it."

This was definitely getting interesting. "Corner, Jessica," I
said. She went and stood there with her hands on her head, as she
had been taught, watching us. She stood very straight with her
legs apart and her raised arms drew the flimsy dress up well
above her prominent little slit. I saw his eyes gleaming.

"I send her to the corner if she has been naughty," I said
apologetically.

"Has she been very naughty, then?" he asked, a little
breathlessly. I had him summed up now. He was definitely hooked.

"Yes, she is a very naughty child. She is always breaking things.
This morning she broke some expensive china which I cannot afford
to replace."

He drew out his wallet. His fat wallet, I was glad to see. I like
men who carry real money as well as credit cards. "Two hundred
dollars?" I ventured. No problem. He handed the money over
without a murmur. I should have asked for more, I noted.

"Shall I go and make some coffee?" I asked. "While you see to her
punishment?"

When I came back with the coffee tray twenty minutes later,
Jessica was in the corner again, her back to us now. Her bottom
nice and red. She was sobbing and he had flooded his trousers.
The photography, it seemed, had been forgotten.

"No problem with her?" I asked.

"Oh no, she is very docile. But she should not be so careless
with your china. I could make something of her for you, I think,
but it would have to be on a regular schedule."

We arranged that he would call the next Monday, to see if she had
been naughty again. If so, we agreed, he could take her to his
place and punish her there. He would be more relaxed that way, he
said, and make a better job of it. And it would give me a few
hours of peace, he pointed out. So we agreed he could have her
for four hours.

I dressed her in her jersey that day, naked from the waist down,
and stood her in the corner. I know that turns Paul on and I
expected it to do the same for Bob. It did!

"How bad today?" he asked, walking over and kissing her.

"What does $500 of damage suggest to you?"

"Well, that suggests to me that she needs pretty hard
punishment," he said. "Will you be content to leave it entirely
to me?"

"Certainly. You must do as you see fit in her best interests. We
cannot have her growing up as the careless little brat she is
now."

"Every week?" he asked. "Four hours every Monday?"

"I think she needs the discipline," I said, "and I certainly need
the money to support her." He nodded his agreement quite eagerly
and I turned to Jessica. "Come here," I said. "Ask Uncle Bob if
he will give you a really good thrashing today and every Monday
until you are a good little girl."

It was the first time she had talked to him. "Please Uncle Bob,"
she said in a frightened little voice, "take me home with you and
give me a really good ther-ther- thrashing today and - and every
Mon-mon-monday until I am a g-good little g- girl."

"OK, dear," said Bob, ignoring the stutter, which I had never
heard before. "That's agreed - I will really try hard to make a
good little girl of you, I promise - come and give me another
kiss then!" He lifted her to his mouth, holding her up with his
hands between her legs as Paul sometimes does. Then he carried
her to the mantelpiece and put the money on it. "We don't need
the coat, I have a drive-in garage at the other end. Hey, I like
that collar! Do you have a lead for it? A little humiliation will
help make a good girl of her, don't you think?"

It was unlucky for Jess that she had a collar on so early in the
week that day. Very unusual, actually. However, I clipped the dog
lead to her collar and he set her down, then took a short piece
of rope from his pocket, turned her round and tied her forearms
together high up behind her back and led her proudly to the car.
He aided her difficult climb up into her seat next to him with a
few well-laced slaps to the bottom. I saw him fix the lead to a
door handle after locking it, and put a rug over her lap. A
careful man, I was glad to see. And gratifyingly generous with
it. When he was out in the road I saw that he drove with one hand
on the wheel and the other under the rug, and she seemed to be
squirming a little.

An unfortunate result of the collar incident, unfortunate for
Jess that is, was that Bob asked for it on his second visit.

"Oh!" I said, somewhat taken aback. "She doesn't always wear
one." I saw his face drop. "But of course," I added, "You can put
it on for her - there they are on the mantelpiece." It was
collars on Mondays from then on, earned or not. Paul did remark
that her bed wetting seemed to be getting worse, but accepted it
as only to be expected, and in fact our weekends were all the
better for it. I never mentioned Bob to Paul of course. Why stir
up trouble? Men get jealous so easily.

After a few weeks Bob started having lunch with us before taking
Jess away, and then exceeding his four hours more and more. He
increased his weekly payment without being asked. Evidently our
little creature suited him well. I noticed from his first visit
that she could not speak to him without stuttering, and now she
is doing it all the time, whether he is there or not.

One lunch-time I asked him if I should punish her for it.

"Of course," he said in surprise. "Of course you should beat her
for it. I do my best, but the more I beat her the worse it seems
to get." He turned to Jessica. "What do you think, my dear?"

She was standing between us, holding the wine bottle Bob had
brought, ready to top up our glasses. It was a jersey day, as Bob
seemed to prefer her that way, and I had made up her face - he
liked that too. She hesitated, looking so cute as she stood there
wondering what she dare say. "P-p-please, I th-think it w-would
be better if you didn't b-b-b-beat me s-s-so much, th-then I
m-might b-be able to s- s-s-s-stop."

Bob laughed, slapping her exposed bottom playfully. "What rubbish
the child comes out with," he said. "I shall certainly persevere
with the beatings. Greater severity is the only way forward in
situations like this, I always think."

So we persevered also, although unfortunately it seemed to be
counter-productive with us also.

However, that was Mondays nicely looked after. And weekends? I
fear you will have to wait if you want a blow by blow description
of a typical weekend. I really do not feel up to it right now.
Paul has developed into far more of a sadist recently than I had
thought possible.

******

Tuesdays

I was out innocently bird-watching when all this started. It was
seeing my target spiraling down to its nest on the other side of
a low garden wall that drew me over the wall as a trespasser on
private property and to the startling sight of a little girl
lying spread out on her back on a lawn, naked.

WOW! I am a timid man, but I gathered up my courage sufficiently
to creep nearer and nearer, hiding among the shrubs that flanked
the lawn. I am a voyeur by nature, and I freely admit that little
girls are my passion. The highlight of my humdrum existence thus
far had been seeing my nieces in the bath, and that had only
happened once, and even then I did not dare reach out that little
way and touch their glistening wetness as they splashed around in
the bath with no idea of the turmoil they caused in my head...

I was close enough now to see that the child on the lawn was not
just lying there - she was staked out, held down by wrist and
ankle cuffs looped over tent pegs, unable to move. Her arms and
legs had been spread out as erotically as was possible, like a
four-pointed star. Spread-eagle, I think, is the correct term.
She had a beautiful little body and an interesting face. Faces
are very important to me. This face was rather Oriental I would
say, and the body was already quite brown. Surely she would not
be left out in the sun alone for long? I determined to make the
best of this unexpected treat while it was there. The lawn was
some way from the house, separated by a paved yard, and I thought
I could perhaps touch the child and still escape over the wall
again if I was seen.

I crept closer still. I wondered if she was being punished or
browned, because her little-girl legs were stretched wide. Really
tightly wide. I could see - well, everything, like when my nieces
stood up in the bath for my sister to dry them. So there she lay,
pegged out, unable to move, almost within touching distance. Only
my own fear held me back. I could even touch her THERE, except
she was sure to scream. I think she was eight or nine years old,
but I am no expert on little girls despite my unhealthy interest
in them, so that is only a guess.

Then I saw that she was gagged! Was that just so her Mother wuld
not be disturbed if she cried? Or was this some sort of
punishment? In any case, the Mother or whatever must be very
cruel or very unfeeling towards this unfortunate child. All the
safer to touch, as her screams would not be heard. In fact, my
evil mind suggested, I might even lie on her and rub up and down,
pretend I was fucking her.

She had seen me now. She was frightened. I felt the pressure at
my crotch tightening. Then I saw her look towards the house. She
had sharper ears than me. I was back among the bushes before her
Mother could see me.

The woman who approached was tall, slim and quite attractive. She
stood hands on hips looking down at the child. "Half way done,
Jess," she said, "time to tenderize you." She was carrying a
plastic bag and a little strap, or maybe it was a small belt, and
flourished it before the child's eyes. Maybe it was a razor
strop. Something like that. Then she emptied the bag out onto the
grass and I saw it was pieces of broken crockery.

The woman slipped the wrist and ankle cuff cords from the pegs
and pulled the child to her feet by her long black hair. Then she
clasped the poor creature to her and beat her exposed bottom with
the strap! The blows went relentlessly on and on and on,
producing only splutterings from the child because of the gag,
but judging by the solid sound of the thwacks and the child's
frantic struggles they were very painful.

I confess that seeing a helpless young girl being beaten turned
me on far more powerfully than I had anticipated. I presumed it
was part of a legitimate parental punishment session for breaking
valuable crockery, none of my business. Anyway, I remained
hidden. To tell the truth I was too scared to do anything else.

When at last the woman had finished beating the child, she pegged
the poor thing down again, this time with her reddened little
bottom up and squirming. Now she picked up a piece of broken
crockery and pushed it under the girl's crotch, despite her
frantic squirmings. And another and another until the twitching
little bottom was actually raised from the ground. Then she
marched away back to the house, humming to herself, pleased, as
if she had done something clever.

I came out and knelt beside the little girl. She looked round at
me in unspoken appeal. She was in real pain from the crockery.
The join in her legs, where she was spread so wide, rested on it.
And it was quite jagged. Her - you know - her little slit stood
out, exposed as it could be, raised up and open, inviting my
fingers...

Yes, I reached out and touched her, depraved creature that I am.
To my eternal shame I took several minutes exploring her
intimately, just as she was. I delighted in her wriggling. Then
at last I took the crockery from under her and scattered it
around her as if it had worked loose, which it would never have
done however much she struggled. She gave me a grateful look. It
was absolutely undeserved. I knew very well that if I stayed
there I would molest the poor child shamefully, maybe even…

So I jumped up and ran. I ran from my wicked thoughts. I ran off
home in shame and came twice in my trousers in the car on the
way, and several times later. I could not get the image of a
naked little girl pegged out on green grass out of my mind. I
knew I should have released her. Maybe I could have brought her
to my lonely country estate and hidden her here and treasured
her. Shame on you, Matthew, you rotten coward. And used her.
Shame on you Matthew for a rotten pervert.

After a fortnight of erotic images and remorse and solitary
masturbation I determined at last that I had to do something. But
what?

One fateful Tuesday I plucked up courage enough to park the car
near the front of her house and sit there pretending to read a
newspaper. It was only a couple of hours before she and her
mother came out and starting walking towards the bus stop. The
child looked ever so erotic in a very short coat and sandals. I
noticed that she had not one but two collars round her slim neck,
and wondered why? She also still had on the wrist and ankle cuffs
that I had been used to peg her out on the lawn: these, taken
with the collar, made for a very erotic look, and I did see a few
heads turn. Her carriage was superb - had she been taught ballet,
I wondered? Altogether a most enticing little bundle, and she was
in dire need of a friend if what I had seen already was anything
to go by.

I followed the bus, and they dropped off by the supermarket. I
had no idea what to do next. I parked the car where I thought
they would pass me when they came out, and waited. I just wanted
to see the child again. I had quite an erection, thinking of her
in the supermarket, her long slim brown legs beneath the short
coat and the peculiar collars round her neck. And the cuffs,
because I knew what they were for. And knowing that her mother
beat her. Maybe beat her hard and often, tied down and helpless.
It was only later that I learnt that her Mother seldom beat her.
It was usually her Father.

I was daydreaming and nursing a shameful erection when they
walked past me. I opened the car door in that instant of panic
without a thought of the consequences - and knocked the little
girl down! As she lay there on her back her coat slipped a little
and I caught a glimpse of naked genitals - was she naked beneath
that short coat?

She covered herself quickly but I very nearly exploded! I don't
think her mother noticed my strange behavior but it must have
been a near thing. I had a big damp patch now, and was confused
and, I suspect, blushing deeply.

As the child scrambled to her feet, her mother was looking me up
and down, taking in the car and my suit and my expensive
wrist-watch and everything. "Well," she said, "poor Jessica is
crying, look. How could you do that to her, you callous brute?
Have you no feelings for children? The least you can do is give
us a lift home and kiss her better where you hurt her bum."

I was astounded. And hooked, of course, as, I now realize, that
evil woman had intended from the start. The bit about kissing the
little girl on the bum had really got to me. Would I really be
allowed to do that? She was still crying and I could swear she
actually remembered me, but if so she said nothing and neither
did she. I nearly gave myself away by driving to their house
without asking where they lived, I was so much on edge.

Anyway, they directed me to the back yard, between the house and
the big lawn. I parked there and escorted the ladies into the
house.

The mother put her hands on her daughter's shoulders. "Now Jess,"
she said, "this kind gentleman -"

"Matthew," I said.

"Uncle Matthew will kiss your sore bum better while I make him
some coffee." With that she thrust the child into my arms and
left the room. A soft rosebud mouth was turned up to mine, ready
to be kissed, so first I did that. She kissed me back really
nicely, using her little tongue as I fancy she had been taught
already. I was amazed, but it could not go on without an
explosion. I stood her up.

She took her coat off shyly, without being told. I was really
enchanted. And when the coat was off I found that the flimsy
little dress she wore was terribly short and she had no panties.
I was unable to speak, I just tugged her over my lap, delightful
little bottom up, ready for my kiss. Or a smack! There were
faintest traces of previous beatings, an absolute turn-on. My
lips touched that warm flesh and my tongue came out. A jolt ran
through me. I was totally disgusted with myself! I jumped up,
spilling her in a heap on the floor just as he mother walked in.

"Jennifer!" she shouted. "You ungrateful little brat! To reject
your Uncle Matthew when he is only trying to comfort you! Corner,
this instant! Your father will be very angry."

She scrambled to her feet and scampered to the corner, then stood
there very upright, facing us, feet apart, her hands clasped on
top her head, shockingly exposed to our gaze, sobbing.

"I better go now," I said. "I am ashamed of my dark desires. I
will never come back and upset her again."

"Quite so," the dreadful woman said calmingly. "So you go and her
father will beat her tonight. He will be really angry that she
has driven you away and give her a real good thrashing. I think
she would much prefer you to beat her."

"Me?" I said in amazement. "Me beat her? Like that, do you mean,
no panties? Would you allow that?"

"Of course!" she said. She actually said that, with the poor
child listening. "You can take her home with you right now," she
continued, "and do whatever you wish to her. Anything! Absolutely
anything. The little bitch deserves everything she gets. It is
just a matter of coming to an arrangement about her."

"An arrangement?" I still had not understood the plot.

"It is just a matter of money," she said.

Just a matter of money! What a monstrous thought. What a tempting
thought. Money is what I have an excess of. Money, yes. Dark
desires about little girls, more than I had realized before.
Beating her? I realized how much I would like to, beat her, kiss
her, fondle her, fuck her. Courage to do those terrible things? I
had none whatever. But looking at it as a matter of money? I
could go for that.

"Five hundred dollars," she depraved woman said. "Every Tuesday.
On Tuesdays Jess will belong to you. In term time you can pick
her up from school and take her back next morning. No
restrictions, she is absolutely yours when you have her. If
beating her is what you want to do, just do it."

She saw I was tempted. She had me weighed up real good. I realize
now that she had done right from the time I opened the car door
and saw Jessica sprawled at my feet. "Three months in advance,"
she said. "Do you have your check book with you?" It sounded like
rent. I suppose it was. I was about to rent the body of this
sweet innocent child with intent to abuse her.

I looked down at Jess, who had stayed where I had dropped her.
She looked up tearfully.

"Well?" said the woman. How I despised her for selling her
daughter. And any man who would enter into such a bargain… I
raised the child to her feet. "Go sit in the car while I talk
with your mother."

"Can I bring my kitten?"

I looked at her mother. "Take the bloody thing," she said, "and
don't bring it back."

So there I was at the wheel of the car, my hands shaking so I
could hardly drive. Besides me sat a little girl dressed an
indecent dress, holding a mewing kitten in her arms. A girl who
was mine for the night, with permission from her Mother to beat
her - or, she had said, anything else! Knowing me for the pervert
I am, she had still arranged this. It was unbelievable, until I
glanced at the child beside me and realized it was true.

"Uncle Matthew?" she said timidly.

"What is it, my dear?"

She was quiet for a moment. I do not think she was used to being
addressed kindly. "Can we afford some cat food?" she ventured at
last.

"Sure," I said. "Anything else we need?"

"Well a collar for Kitty would be nice. One with a bell in case
we lose her. She is the bestest friend I have."

So I did a little shopping for the kitten on the way home. I was
touched that she had asked nothing for herself. I determined to
buy her some decent clothes - but not today. I would enjoy her as
she was today. How much more depraved can you get? I am not proud
of these things I am telling you. Far from it.

"Maybe you should buy a belt?" she said. "Unless you have one at
home. The one Daddy uses on me is on the wall in my bedroom. He
says it should be the last thing I see every night and the first
thing in the morning." She was developing into quite a
chatterbox, none of the stammering I had heard at her house.
"Shall I have my own room in your house? Or shall I sleep in your
bed? I forgot to bring my nightie."

"You shall sleep in my bed," I said, "and as you have no nightie
I won't wear pajamas."

"Right then," she said cheerfully, "that's fair but where will
Kitty sleep? Oh, is that your house." We had just swept round the
last curve of the tree-lined estate road. "Oh, isn't it pretty!"
Just like that. She was to sleep with me, it seemed, no nightie,
no protest, no fuss at all, the matter of a belt to beat her with
forgotten. No wonder I had a hard-on as we pulled up at the front
door.

"Shall I keep my dress on?" she asked as we entered the hall. "Or
do you want me without it, ready for the beating?"

"Keep it on for now," I said. It made little difference, it was
so thin and so short, but I thought it a little more erotic than
having her naked. I was glad I keep a warm house. I locked the
front door behind us, put the key in my pocket, and took her by
the hand. She came down the passage with me without any sign of
resistance. "Let's find a nice place for Kitty to sleep first,
and give her her dinner. This is the kitchen, will it do?"

"Oh yes, Kitty loves kitchens, but Mother won't allow her in
ours. Ooh, isn't this one lovely? Much bigger than ours. Shall I
cook for you tonight? I can cook all sorts of things." She
started opening drawers and cupboards. "Wow, I do like your house
so far, Uncle Matthew."

"You can cook for us," I said. "If you would really like to."

"Yes," she said doubtfully. "But how hard will you beat me if you
don't like it?" "Oh Jessica!" I exclaimed. "What sort of monster
do you think I am?"

"A nice one, I think," she said, finger to lip, head on one side.
"the sort of monster who might not beat me if I break something …
why you are quite cuddly, Mister Monster." She was laughing at
me. I am rather the plump type. "Can I explore the rest of the
house?" she asked in sudden fright, as if I might be cross.

"Sure. Nobody else lives here."

"Just one person except two people on Tuesdays! Lovely!"

"Wait till I beat you, young lady. I am going to, you know, after
your bath." I had paid enough for the privilege and intended to
enjoy it. I intended to put away my scruples and be merciless. I
intended to wash her slowly all over, especially her private
places, and then thrash her until she was really sobbing. And
then I would comfort her in bed…

"Look, Uncle Matthew," she said. "I know that people enjoy to
beat me. But I don't mind with you, because you are different,
you don't call me bad names, I think you might even get to like
me one day. So beat me as much as you like. I can take it, you
know. There is no way you can beat me the way my parents do,
because they hate me!" She burst into tears. "I am a hateful
little cunt, a rotten worthless little half-caste slit-eye, they
told me, they told me and told me and told me, nobody will ever
love me, never, never, never!"

Her earnest little speech was a revelation. She hit me right in
the heart and it opened a doorway in my mind. "Oh Jessie!" I
said. "essie1 Jessie! I love you! I do - I do - I love you
already - come here you gorgeous little brat!"

She jumped into my arms and her sobbing turned quickly to smiles
as she kissed me frantically. Lovingly! She had believed me, as
she should. She truly had someone to love her at last and she
would love that person back, beatings or not, abuse or not, so
starved had he been of affection! I knew that she was mine, mine
to cherish, mine to command, mine to enjoy to the full. To the
full? Oh yes, but not today, if I can resist the temptation. It
would be better if Jess and I have time to develop what looks
like being a most interesting relationship a little further
first.

Is there really no limit to my depravity? Perhaps I shall report
again later, or in a few weeks.

******

When I picked Jessica up from school that afternoon she came
skipping towards me just like any other nine year old little
girl. But she was wearing a punishment collar from home, which
meant a hiding that weekend, and I knew that she would have no
panties, as her parents did not approve of them.

This was my third week of having her on Tuesdays, and I had not
bought her any clothes yet. I enjoyed her about the house in
nothing but the very short flimsy dress she wore when I collected
her from her home. But today, the first school day of what I
suppose one could call my Tuesday renting, we had nothing but the
school uniform she was wearing. Perhaps I ushould explain that I
paid her Mother for the use of her on Tuesdays, when I had
permission to do as I wished with her on a no questions asked
basis. I was encouraged to punish her, in fact. Her parents
really hated this unfortunate child, and liked to think that I
was abusing her. She arrived, an unwanted burden, after her
Mother was raped in Japan, and she had never forgiven the child
for that.

As soon as she was in the car, I handed her the wrist and ankle
cuffs. They, together with her collar and her exotic face, would
be sure to attract a lot of attention when we went shopping, and
I would enjoy that and knowing she had no panties, pervert that I
am.

She put them on without protest, but I could see she was puzzled,
as I usually waited till we were home before using them. "Why,
Uncle Matthew," she said a little apprehensively, "are we going
somewhere where you can fasten me down to beat me?"

"Oh no," I said. "Your beating will be at bedtime as usual. These
are just to make you look distinguished when we go shopping."

"Oh, are we going shopping? We need a special bowl for feeding
Kitty."

"Yes, well, she can manage ok, this is about you," I said. "Will
you wear your school uniform all evening?"

"Oh no!" she exclaimed, deeply shocked. "That is not allowed. It
might get dirty."

"So what will you wear?"

"Well nothing, I suppose."

"Wrong!" I said. "I am going to buy you a pretty dress, as you
are my absolute favorite little brat!"

"Oh wow, Uncle Matthew! Really and truly?" She hesitated.
"Perhaps…"

"Perhaps what?"

"No it doesn't matter, you would be cross."

"Yes," I said, "if you ask for panties I will be. Your Mother
says you are not old enough yet."

"I know. I'll ask again when I am ten."

"Sixteen more like," I said sternly. A really erotic future
unfolded before my eyes, as I saw the tears well up in those
shiny brown eyes. I sometimes think that as she grows older she
is coming to brood more on being humiliated than on the frequency
of her beatings.

I entered one of those really posh all plate glass emporiums,
Jessica trailing obediently behind as if she was on a leash. We
had not gone far before I saw one of the sales ladies eyeing
Jessica eagerly, and sure enough here she came hurrying over.

"Can I help you, Sir? Do you want something for your daughter?"

I saw no reason to correct her about parenthood. "A dress," I
said. "Nothing but your best."

She glanced round. "A slavegirl look might suit her? Maybe I can
find something with chains on?" she asked quietly. "Yes, I would
enjoy that," I agreed. "Right, then. I must see what size she
is." She led us to a booth and drew the curtain behind us, then
started to undress Jessica. "Why," she exclaimed, "she has no
panties!" Her hands were roving over the child. A lesbian
pedophile, I wondered? I have no idea if there are such
creatures.

"No," I said, "her Mother and I do not hold with them."

"Well I quite agree with you," she said. She stood Jessica up on
a stool, raised her hands above her head, and got out a tape
measure before standing back to admire her. "Panties do interfere
with spankings, don't they? This looks like a very naughty little
girl. She has a good figure though and her posture is really
excellent. I think we can make something of her. I think you need
a jacket to go with the dress. Let us deal with that first."

She hurried off. Jessica was nearly in tears, but at a look from
me she held her position until the salesgirl returned. "I think I
have just what we want. Hands down, dear." She slipped the jacket
over Jessica's shoulders and did up to buttons. It was a boy's
jacket with a mock bow tie. It fitted her tightly and she really
did look splendid in that. It set off the nakedness below it
superbly, as her collar did also.

"Wearing anything else with that would be a shame," said the
salesgirl musingly. "I think I agree," I said. "She does not
really deserve a dress. She hasn't earned one yet."

"Oh indeed?" said the salesgirl with a knowing look. "Just the
jacket then."

She put Jessica's school clothes into a bag and draped a cloak
over her shoulders. "I'll throw this in. It's a bit short, but I
don't suppose it is far to your car?" As she accepted payment she
presented me with a card and said: "I have a sewing machine and
everything at home. If there is anything special you ever want,
just bring her to me. I make restraints, you know, for special
customers. And special occasions. My specialty is a jacket for
children such as this one to be fucked in." She winked. "Since
she has not earned her dress yet."

"Are you in this evening?"

"Any time after six - as a matter of fact I am due to clock off
in a few minutes. Perhaps you would care to take your daughter to
the ice-cream parlor, and I will join you there soon?"

Jessica in the cloak was just about as exposed as she had been in
the short coat, and she kept looking at the bag with her school
clothes in, as if to ask me to let me change back. It was better
standing up, we found. Anyway, it was only a short wait, and
nothing was said when we rose to leave with the salesgirl.

"I am Matthew," I said, as I handed her into the front seat
beside me. "I am Betty," she replied. "Oh there is no need to get
into the back, Jessica. Come and sit on my lap."

When we arrived, she took us into the front room, and that is
where the first shock awaited us. Two beautiful blue-eyed
red-headed little girls about Jessica's size who had been
watching the television sprang to their feet. One was naked and
the other appeared to have no arms! And she was wearing the same
jacket as I had just bought for Jessica. And, like Jessica, she
was naked from the waist down.

"My daughter Robin," said Betty proudly, pulling forward the
armless one. "As you see, she is modeling one of my restraints.
And this is Wren, her twin."

I saw now that the first child was indeed wearing a restraint,
and it was because of that that she seemed to have no arms - they
were folded up tightly behind her back within some sort of bag
that strapped round her waist to hold them steady. Ever so neat.
The other just stood to attention, her eyes on her Mother.

"My husband and I are experimenting with this design," said
Betty. "I want to see how long the subject can be left without
removing the restraint. You will notice that the arms are held so
close to the body that the subject will appear normal with a
coat." She took the cloak from Jessica and draped it round Robin.
"Or even a cloak! And see how it improves the posture, it ensures
chest out and arms back." She removed the cloak and tossed it
carelessly aside.

"How long has she been like that?" I asked.

"Nearly four days. We had to keep her off school unfortunately."

"And how to you know when she has had enough?"

"Well, you see, this is part of another device, the one you are
interested in, what we call the fucking cradle. The harness she
is wearing fits into the cradle, when desired. You will have to
buy both. Robin hates being fucked and when she asks her Dad to
fuck her we know she has had all she can stand. She must be
fucked to be released, otherwise we would never know."

"So we can't have it until you have finished the experiment?"

"Fortunately that will not be long," said Betty. "She actually
asked her Dad this morning, but luckily he was too busy to see to
her then. He will be back soon and he will demonstrate the device
for you. Would you care for a sherry?"

The naked girl immediately went and fetched a small tray with a
decanter of sherry and small glasses, and poured for us. We had
arranged the three girls beside each other and were comparing
their good and bad points, when Betty's husband walked in. He
looked at the little group and chuckled. "I sense business," he
said. "Let's leave the brats here and go out for a drink."

"Oh but Daddy -" came a wail from Robin, as she ran to him.

"You've been like that for a record time," he said, pushing her
away. "A little longer won't do you any harm."

"Well I think we should take the girls," said Betty. "This is
Jessica - she has a cloak. I will put Robin's coat on for her,
and Wren can have hers."

"Oh very well," said the man, turning to me and shaking my hand.
"I am Gregory, by the way."

"Mathew," I said. "Glad to meet you. Cute little kids you have
there."

"Adopted," he said. "There is no red hair in either of our
families. We are experimenting with them. We always punish Robin
and never punish Wren." He turned to the naked girl. "We make
Wren watch everything that happens to Robin, of course. She knows
that I shall switch between them the moment she is not good. It
has made her amazingly obedient, whilst Robin is the opposite.
There has to be a lesson in that! Shall I demonstrate?"

"By all means," I said.

"I find them equally interesting," he said, stroking the
trembling Wren. "This one is kept naked so that she is ready for
when I decide she should be beaten and fucked instead of her
sister, isn't that so, dear?"

"Yes daddy."

"It is bound to happen one day. Maybe quite soon. She cannot be
obedient enough to please me all the time. As soon as she is not
obedient enough, she and Robin swop roles. Right, dear?"

"Yes daddy." She was shaking, barely controlling her tears.
"Dog!" he shouted, and she immediately went down on all fours and
started to run about, wagging her bottom. "Cat!" he said. She lay
at his feet on her back, legs in the air, mewing, then rubbed
against his legs, purring. "Punishment," he said. She went to a
kind of umbrella stand in the corner and fetched a birch, handed
it to him, and laid down on the floor on her back, clasping her
ankles in her hands. The perfect position. He poised the birch
over her cleft, and I saw terror mount in her, before he laughed
and lowered the birch. "Now," he said, "give this nice man a nice
kiss."

She crept to me, opening my flies and started to suck me off in
the most delightful way.

"Enough!" said her father, to my disappointment. He was proud of
his demonstration, though. "It's much easier to discipline
adopted children than one's own, I think?"

"Well, actually," I said, "I have only borrowed Jessica."

"Indeed. You must borrow our two some time. You might specially
enjoy Wren, but you are not allowed to punish her, only tell her
you are writing a report. That scares her to Hell. Sounds like we
shall have an interesting chat. A bar, I think? There is one near
here where they allow the twins in. We can get a sandwich too, if
you need one."

"Not for me," I said. "Jessica is cooking for me later tonight."

"He wants the cradle for Jessica," cut in Betty, as we walked
into the bar. "I said you and Robin would demonstrate it for
him."

"My pleasure," he said, turning to me. "She is a virgin? Yes, I
thought so. I remember the first time with Robin…"

After that the discussion became somewhat technical. I got a lot
of good advice from him before we returned to start the
demonstration. Robin was really wriggling about in her jacket by
then, and there was a look of deep despair in those blue eyes, so
nicely set off by the luxuriant crop of unruly red hair. I
anticipated a friendly if firm seduction with Jessica, as she was
genuinely keen to make me happy, and I loved her sincerely, but
this - this was clearly going to be something very different,
just a brutal rape for the pleasure of the person who should be
protecting the poor child.

Gregory took out the cradle from a cupboard and set it in the
middle of the floor. "Normally I would wait till later in the
evening," he said, "but never mind. You place it firmly on the
floor, like this - or it could be on a bed. I have straps to
secure it to a bed if you wish - then the subject just lies in it
- just take her by the hair, like this, put your foot behind her
legs, like this, and trip her backwards, and she will probably
fall right into it, like this."

Robin now lay in the cradle, the hooded arms behind her back
fitting exactly a hollow obviously made for them. All Gregory had
to do was to pull the two end of a strap together over her waist
and snap them together. Very neat.

"Stage one is complete," he said. "The subject is helpless and
reasonably well exposed. You could, if you prefer the subject to
struggle, proceed to take her like this. Sometimes it is nice to
do that for a change. The slope at which the subject is held is
adjustable thus. Some people prefer the head high, some low."

He stood back admiring his handiwork. Robin was indeed in a prime
position for fucking, I thought. She lay there gazing up at us
with very real horror in her eyes. "Fetch Matthew and I a drink,
dear," he said to his wife. "Now, Matthew, Robin is a great
screamer. I always gag the little bitch at this point for fear of
upsetting the neighbors. Perhaps you would care to do it? We sell
these special ball gags that do not obscure or distort the
subject's face."

I leaned over the girl and tried to push it into her mouth.
Impossible. "Slap her until she opens her mouth," said Gregory.
"She knows what comes after the gagging and she always tries to
delay it, stupid girl."

At last I had it in, and fastened it at the back of her head. I
was really excited by now. Actually touching the child seemed to
make her rape all the more real.

"Now," said Gregory, "this is where my cradle really scores. You
take a leg, like this, and bend it up to the outside of the
cradle by her face, like this - and there, it is self fixing! No
experience necessary. You do the other leg, Matthew."

So I grabbed the thrashing leg and bent it up to above her head.
She fought me every inch of the way. Most exhilarating. When I
pressed the ankle against the outside of the cradle at head
height there was a click and she was secured.

What a sight she made, legs raised wide apart, as a bulge in the
cradle construction ensured. I saw that the knees had bent a
little to allow the bottom to come up as well as the legs.

"You move the ankles along this rod to adjust the width between
them. You can of course use this position for beating instead, if
you prefer. Or you can beat her before you fuck her. That is what
I recommend. You can get at both the cunt and the arsehole, as
you see, so it serves for boys also, or buggering. I usually do
beat her. I use a birch. I find it puts me in the mood rather
nicely."

Betty handed him a bundle of twigs tied together, and he raised
it over her open legs. The child was squirming like mad. The
contraption was cleverly designed to allow just enough motion for
maximum enjoyment. He flogged her for a good five minutes before
pausing.

"Well?" he asked. "Would you like to fuck her first?"

It was tempting, but I wanted to save myself for Jessica. "Some
other time," I said reluctantly. "If it can be arranged."

"Why sure," he said. "Betty takes the bookings."

So now he straddled the chair, took down his trousers and
inserted his eager cock, and proceeded with a very energetic
demonstration. I saw how easy it was in that position. He made
heavy work of it though, going at her like a battering ram. He
pumped remorselessly and out of the defenseless child, pounding
her mercilessly. It was quite a while before his orgasm came, but
when it did it was certainly spectacular.

"Right," he said, when his breathing subsided a little. "I'll
leave you two to deal with the financial bit. I usually leave
Robin in the cradle till later in the evening so I can give her a
good-night thrashing before releasing her, but I guess I shall
have to forgo that this time if the equipment is sold. Maybe
Betty will add that to the bill."

Betty fitted the arm restraint for Jessica before we left, and so
we drove home with her armless and the cradle in the boot.

"That man was very rough with his little girl?" she said
tentatively, in a very small voice.

"Uh-huh."

"Did you buy some birches?"

"Uh-huh."

"Do you still love me?"

"I love you to bits, you silly little brat!" I said, putting my
arm round her and steering with one hand. We were on the estate
road by then.

"That's all right then," she said, cuddling up to me. "I
suppose!"

I couldn't wait to get her inside! The best of the day was to
come. Maybe I shall write about it another time.

******

Seeing Betty and Gregory's cruel treatment of their twin nine-year
old adopted daughters, the same age as Jessica, had a very bad
effect on her, and haunted me. I wished she had never seen
Robin's brutal beating and rape, nor Wren's utterly distasteful
subservience. I wanted my Jessica exactly as she had been, open
and friendly, accepting unjust punishment with reasonable
fortitude because she knew she could not avoid it. What I had now
was a sullen withdrawn little creature with no joy in her.

Her Tuesday visits to me, despite the beatings I gave her, had
become something she treasured, contact with the one person in
her life who loved her, an escape from a brutal home. Anyway, the
rest of this Tuesday seemed to have gone sour. Even playing with
Kitty and feeding that delightful scrap of fur did not cheer her
up much. I know she was brooding on what she had seen done to
Robin and Wren rather than what happened to her at home, though
her own treatment was quite harsh and just as unloving.

Of course seeing her walk around the house in the jacket with her
arms bound up behind her back so neatly and securely was a bonus.
She was really erotic like that, specially as she was naked from
the waist down, succulent little buttocks wiggling as she walked,
inviting the strap. I could have her go around completely naked
at any time, of course, but this was far far better.

I had her stand in front of me. "Smile," I said, "or I will beat
that miserable expression off your face."

It didn't work, but taking her over my lap with her arms so
completely out of action was quite a new thrill. And the way her
little buttocks juddered under the angry slipper, and her perfect
little body squirmed upon my stiff prick, was really good. I
slapped her harder and longer than I would normally have done,
but it was no good. This form of restraint gave me a splendid
feeling of power over her, but the spark was gone. I gave up and
released her arms so that she could go and cook our evening meal,
still wearing the jacket only.

As we ate I tackled her about her new attitude.

"Well," she said, "you are going to fuck me tonight."

"I am," I said, "but not like Robin was fucked. That was very
nasty. I will fuck you lovingly. It will be quite different."

She pondered this. "I don't think it is fair," she said at last.
"I may be the same age as Robin, but I am smaller. I don't want
to be fucked yet."

"I think nine is OK," I said. "I think Robin was being fucked
when she was smaller." It was entirely the wrong thing to say.
Jess just clammed up after that. Another severe beating did
nothing to help, so I played my trump card.

"Here is the key to the mystery door at the top of the stairs," I
said. "You may open it now. And you may use anything you find
there."

She scampered off, the gloom lifting a little. The mystery door
had intrigued her from her first visit to me, the first time I
paid her awful parents for the no- questions-asked use of her on
Tuesdays. The door led to another wing of the house, a suite of
rooms used by my sister when she was home. I have two nieces, one
just older than Jessica and one just younger. There would be lots
of toys, but I fancied that Jess would go for the clothes..

And what came scampering down those stairs half an hour later? A
vision. An angel in jersey and jeans. My Jessica with a wide grin
on her face. "Oh Uncle Matthew, thank you thank you," she said,
leaping into my arms. "Oh it's so lovely to have proper clothes!
May I wear them every time I come to see you? Panties as well? I
am wearing panties! I am wearing panties!" She had a handful of
panties with her and threw them in the air in exhilaration.

"But what if I want to spank you?"

"You can do it with my jeans and panties on, silly." She placed
herself over my lap. "See?"

So I took advantage of the situation. I whacked her real good and
hard, but it wasn't the same, even though the jeans were very
tight. Not the same feel as bare flesh at all. The excitement was
not there. I shook my head as I put her down. "No good," I said.

"Well I thought you did pretty well." She was rubbing her bottom
ruefully.

"We will need a new command for when I want to beat you. Here it
comes. Jeans off!"

A flurry of activity. In an instant she stood before me in the
jersey and panties only, hands behind her back head at that
slight angle she uses when she is quizzing me, the cheeky little
brat.

"Jeans on!" The reverse process took longer of course, and the
panties slowed her down, as they were unfamiliar to her. "I think
panties are not necessary with jeans," I said. "You may wear them
with dresses only, not jeans or nighties."

"OK spoilsport!" When she had finished dressing she came and gave
me a lingering kiss. Delicious.

"Think of something nice for to do after clothes off," I said.
"Clothes off!"

This time she was quicker, and she came to me and knelt down and
started to undo my zip, then began to lick my balls. That was
something she had never done before. And I did not want it so
early in the evening. I am no go-at-it-all-night stud. I pushed
her away roughly.

"Oh," she said. "I thought you would like that! I saw Wren
licking her Dad there like her life depended on it."

"It is something I planned for later," I explained. "I want to
fuck you first. It was a good idea, we will use it later. But
now," I said sternly, "look at the mess you have made. Clothes
all over the place."

"Oh shit!" It sounded great to me, coming from that delicate
little mouth as she scrambled over my lap. Was that her fourth or
fifth spanking of the evening so far? We must surely be heading
for a record, I thought, as my fingers caressed those beautifully
rounded little buttocks that waited all tensed-up for the
slipper. They were faintly pink, still, and warm to the touch.

When I had finished she jumped up, not quite crying. I had been
fairly severe, but nothing like what she receives at home. "May I
go and put on a dress please?" she asked, and I sent her off
happy.

She came back even happier, pirouetting in the dress she had
chosen. It was a little small for her, I was gratified to see.
She held up the hem to show me her panties - pale blue to match
the dress. Clever girl.

"Now I am really your little niece," she said, twirling round
proudly. "You can take me anywhere! Parties! The Zoo! I am niece
number three."

"Number two," I said. "You come in the middle, Janet, Jessica and
Janice, and I am proud of all three of you."

"I wish I could play with them. And Robin and Wren too. What a
party we could have."

"Yes - but you can't keep the dress on today. You haven't earned
it yet. It is nearly time for me to fuck you."

"I shall fight!"

"Well," I said, "I could whip you if I wanted, you know." I took
a vicious bull whip that she had not seen before out of a drawer
and showed it to her.

"Oh God, you wouldn't whip me with that?"

"I might, if you make too much fuss when I fuck you."

"Oh well!" She brightened up. "I must be good, then. Are you
going to fuck me every week?"

"Yes," I said, "but we will go out and show off your dress as
well and maybe have some parties… now, what shall we do until
your bath time?"

"Snakes and ladders!"

"But that might go on for hours."

"Well, it might."

"I think I shall read to you," I said. I opened up my computer
and read from the screen, a bondage novel I had downloaded easily
and discreetly from bdsmbooks.com. It was Erica, from the Saviour
library:-

Paint was peeling from the woodwork of the dingy inner-city
terrace house at the end of the pathetic strip of unkempt garden.
The family might well have gone away after all that publicity:
neighbours get very militant when youngsters are abused, even in
this foulest of London slums.

The front door was ajar. I thought I heard crying from inside, or
perhaps this was an abandoned kitten. Nobody answered my knock.
The noise that had disturbed me stopped abruptly, that was all.

I pushed open the creaking door. It led to a bare narrow
uncarpeted passage. In front I could see into a cheerless kitchen
with unwashed dishes piled high in a sink with a dripping tap. A
door was half open on my left. I went in, and there she was,
lying naked on her stomach on a shabby green couch, her slim body
shaking with inner sobs, her face turned away from the door into
a mass of gorgeous long red- gold hair, or was it auburn, it
seemed to change tint with the light. Her legs were apart and
bent up at the knees by the shortness of the couch, ankles
crossed over a luscious little bottom.

Her arms were held high up behind her back, bound in such a way
that each hand held the opposite elbow!

She drew up her legs as she turned over and sat up in alarm, an
extremely pretty girl, extremely frightened. For a moment big
bewildered blue eyes peeped through glorious long red hair, now
falling over her face in a haze, then she jumped to her feet and
scampered to a corner as far away from me as she could get,
turning to face me shyly, shaking her head so that the hair swung
behind her.

She had a perfect little figure, slim but nicely rounded. With
her arms secured behind her so tightly she stood unnaturally
erect, which drew attention to those budding breasts, so high and
firm.

There was no heating or comfort in that bare room, apparently no
one else in the house.

"Are you Erica?" I asked.

"Yes." It was almost a whisper. She was shrinking into the corner
as if she would like to vanish into the woodwork, and she was
shaking all over. She had the wide sort of mouth that so easily
shows the upper teeth, and hers were good, regular and very
white.

A very kissable mouth!

"Where's your step-Mother?"

"G-gone to the pub."

"Does she always leave you like this, no clothes?"

"That's so I don't run away."

"Why would you run away?"

"Because -"

"Because what?"

"Oh God!"

It was the first time I heard her blaspheme, but I decided to
overlook it. This was no time to upbraid her, even for so serious
a fault.

"Because what?" I asked again, gently, easing my trousers where
they had tightened very inconveniently at the crotch.

"Uncle Willie -"

"Yes?"

"He's - he's coming to punish me -"

I stood up, and as she cowered away from me, caught in the
corner, my eyes dwelt on her skin, so very smooth, a beautiful
light brown, maybe olive, verging on golden, inviting the fingers
to slide over it, all over it, to explore its shyness and secret
recesses slowly and at leisure...

I licked my lips. "I think I'll wait for your step-mother," I
said. After all, there are limits. "Will she be long?"

"What - what time is it?"

I looked at my watch, the one I had won at Sunday school. The
thought of that should have made me turn round and walk out of
that evil house, because the sight of her nakedness was doing bad
things to my mind. "It's just after three," I said. "Oh God!" she
said again. Her delicate face - elfin, perhaps, one might call it
- her face screwed up. She had stopped crying, but now she began
to whimper: she was still pretty when she did that, it was cute,
somehow appealing, and I didn't want her to stop.

"They - they'll be back any minute!" she said despairingly. This
was in the days when pubs had to close at 3 o'clock.

"And your Uncle Willie is coming to punish you?" It seemed
incredible. "What do you mean, punish?"

She hesitated, quiet for a moment, biting her full lower lip, as
I waited for her to go on. "He - he'll beat me first, I think,
and then - yes, he'll beat me with the belt I expect, he usually
does."

"THE belt?" I repeated, for that was the way it had sounded.

"Yes," she said, as if it was obvious, "the leather one, the one
that hangs by my bed."

"Wow!" said Jessica, "go on Uncle Matthew. "She sounds a bit like
me. It was just getting exciting."

"Sorry, it will have to be next week. It is your bedtime now."

When at last she had run off, I poured myself a whisky and
contemplated the bullwhip. I decided to hang it over the
mantelpiece. I had seen what an effect not punishing Wren had had
on her. Maybe not whipping Jessica would have a similar effect. I
didn't think I would actually ever use it.

When I entered the bathroom she rose like a nymph from the soapy
water and stood there, facing me, almost knee deep, with her
hands held high in the air as the water ran off her shining body,
steaming. She peeped up at me slyly, knowing very well how much I
would enjoy running my hands over her splendid little body.

After I had indeed enjoyed myself for a while I turned her round,
brought her arms down, and fitted the harness. Now she stood in
the bath with her arms strapped up high behind her - she looked
from the front to have no arms at all, so cunning was the device.

"Are you ready for your fucking?" I asked, and she started to
cry. What a delicious sight she was, standing armless in the bath
and crying. I lifted her out, then carried her squirming form to
the living room and dried her at my leisure.

"Corner!"

She stood there in the familiar legs apart, but of course she
could not put her hands on top of her head, while I prepared rest
of the equipment. It looked pretty scary and she looked pretty
scared. When it was ready, I treated myself to a sip of wine, and
then did as Gregory had shown me with poor little Robin - I took
Jessica by the hair and marched her backwards into position, then
tripped her into it backwards.

And there she was. It had worked splendidly. I secured the strap
over her chest and stood back. She looked splendid like that,
flat on her back, legs kicking, totally at my mercy, crying
already. I worked the inclining mechanism until she was at the
correct angle, then lay on her. Great. I could easily fuck her
like that, and her struggles did indeed turn me on mightily, but
I decided to proceed to the next stage.

Legs up! I did them one at a time, fastening them to the
apparatus level with her head but wide, on the cross bar, as
Gregory and I had done for Robin, and there she lay, trussed and
finally ready for the fucking.

I stripped. My erection was excellent. I was not nearly as big as
Gregory, fortunately for Jess. Greg had been huge. As I
visualized him plunging into poor little Robin, I wondered again
how it was possible. Unlike Robin, who had struggled and screamed
into her gag, Jessica seemed quite resigned to her fate when I
lubricated her hole, as Gregory had recommended but not, I
remembered, done for Robin.

I had nearly forgotten the birching that was supposed to arouse
the subject, as Gregory had called his daughter. As I stood over
Jess with the birch she flinched away as far as she could, but
still there were no shrieks or pleas for mercy. I brought the
twigs down between her legs quite hard. Still not a murmur. I am
proud to say that the brave child took quite a hard birching
without a murmur.

I lay on her and looked her in the eye. "Now Jess dear," I said
as I positioned my prick at her hole, "this is where you earn the
right to wear a dress! It will hurt the first time. Are you
ready?" She bit her lip and screwed up her face and nodded as I
plunged in - one loud shriek and I was in and riding her…riding
her… my orgasm was the greatest moment of my life so far.

Later, when we were both naked in my bed, I thought she would
turn from me. But instead she came into my arms. She was still
sobbing, but she snuggled up to me. "Dress AND panties?" she
murmured sleepily, and soon she really was asleep.

What a way I had come since that fateful day not so long ago when
a shy version of me had climbed a garden wall and seen a naked
little girl pegged out on a lawn! Problem was, visions of poor
little Robin being so savagely raped kept rising in my mind. I
had been invited to book a session to rape her myself, and the
temptation was with me even with my darling Jessica asleep in my
arms. Tuesdays alone, I feared, were insufficient to slake the
wicked desires that Robin had stirred up in the deepest recesses
of my brain. Will you hear more from me? - I am not sure.

******

My dreams became haunted by visions of the child Robin as I had
seen her so brutally beaten and raped by her father, in the
special fucking cradle he had designed. Just to demonstrate it!
How could he do that to a child of nine? And I had been invited
to make an appointment to rape her myself!

Inevitably I gave in to temptation and rang their house. Betty,
the mother, answered. She recognized my voice at once. "Hullo
Matthew," she said, "do you want to make an appointment to see
Robin?"

"Er -"

"Yes I thought so. No need to be shy about it. Is it urgent?"

"Er -"

She chuckled. "I thought so. Can you come round tonight about
nine?"

As easy as that! Just routine to her. I tried hard to persuade
myself not to go. But I went. She checked me out with the chain
on the door, then let me in and shot the bolts securely behind
us.

"You are the last tonight," she said. "So you can take as long as
you like with her." "The last?" I gasped.

"Oh yes, Robin is very popular. I think part of her appeal is
that she hates it so much." She led me into the living room,
where the twins had evidently been expecting me, for they were
both standing to attention against the far wall. And what an
erotic sight they were, those gorgeous redheaded little girls, on
display like that.

Robin had on her bondage jacket that was part of the fucking
cradle. It held her arms folded tightly up behind her back, nice
and high, and kept her slim body extremely erect. It finished at
her waist, and left her naked below. Her face was attractively
made up and she wore a dog collar.

"We got the collar idea from your Jessica," said Betty, seeing me
glance at it. "I hope you don't mind?"

"Not at all," I said. "I think it is a nice touch." Indeed it
was, a touch of spice to a really erotic picture, specially as a
short leather strap dangled from it. One could lead her by that
or take it off and use it as a strap to beat her with. A nice
touch indeed. I must get one for Jessica.

Wren, the other twin, was, as before, just plain naked. Greg had
explained to me that they never beat her and she was a virgin.
The sight of her sister being constantly beaten and abused,
however, together with her nakedness, had had a big effect on
her, and she had become, as Betty described it, undoubtedly the
most docile child in all the world.

"We let Robin keep her harness on in the evening," said Betty.
"So much easier than taking it on and off all the time, don't you
think… come here and give Matthew a kiss., both of you."

The contrast between the two girls became obvious at once. Wren
ran over, dropped at my feet, and was at my zip in a flash until
I sent her away. It was Robin I wanted, Robin who haunted my
dreams and Robin came slowly, reluctantly, and stopped just out
of touching range until her mother pushed her into my arms, and
even then she kept her mouth stubbornly shut.

"Kiss properly," said Betty, "or I shall tell your father." The
result was immediate and I had a reluctant but knowledgeable
little courtesan in my arms. It was delicious, knowing how much
effort she had to make to overcome her repugnance of kissing or
being touched.

"Now," said Betty, as I caressed Robin, "what do you want to do,
Matthew? Birching her in is a hundred dollars, fucking is two
hundred, or both together for two fifty. Use of the cradle fifty
extra but I won't charge for fitting the harness as she is
wearing it already. Or if you have any special desires we can
discuss them.

There is nothing she cannot be made to do. Some of our clients
have pretty weird ideas, so feel free to ask."

"Will her father be beating her tonight?" I asked.

"Very likely, if he has had a drink or two. I can give him a ring
on his mobile, if you like. I will ask him to do be really rough
and let you watch for a hundred and fifty, if you are too shy to
do it yourself."

"Wasn't he really rough last time?"

"Oh no, that was pretty mild, he wasn't sure how you would
react."

Robin, who had not seemed to mind me much, began trembling and
started to cry at this mention of her father. I realized then
that seeing her abused was more important to me than abusing her.
That could wait for another time. My memories needed refreshing.
"Yes," I said, "send for her father please."

Betty spoke briefly on the phone. "He will be here soon," she
said. "He sounded really tanked up, which always makes him
rougher anyway."

Robin threw herself to the floor and started screaming and
kicking her legs about. It took both of us to gag her. Just
watching her terror and the bubbles that squeezed out around her
gag was a big turn-on. When her mother picked up a birch and
started to thrash her as she squirmed about of the carpet, trying
to escape the lashes of the birch there at my feet,. I was so
worked up that I pulled her mother aside and dropped on the
child. The feeling of her struggling madly beneath me with her
arms secured in the harness beneath her was irresistible. Before
I knew what I was doing I was already fucking her, and once I
started I couldn't stop. In and out I plunged, inspired by the
waves of terror and disgust that came from her. And this is
nothing to what her father will be doing to her soon, I was
thinking.

"Oh dear, she shouldn't have provoked you like that, her father
will be angry about it," Betty said. "And she was quite rude to
another client earlier. She is for it whether you stay or not -
do you still want to?"

My breathing was slowing down. I was really pleased with myself.
I was a man after all, not just a timid voyeur. "Oh yes," I said,
"and you can charge me for the fuck as well. It was well worth
it. She is a real choice little fuck, she struggles so hard."

"Yes, so everyone says, and then they beat her for it… ah, there
is her father, I'll just go an let him in, while you hold her."

Holding her was not easy, the way she threw herself around, but I
managed to do so, more or less, until Greg entered the room. Then
she went berserk and managed to get into a corner, where she made
herself as small as she could, down on the floor, facing the
wall.

"Oh dear oh dear!" he said. "Is the little whore causing problems
again?"

He went to the corner and dragged her out by the hair, stood her
on a stool and knocked her off it. As soon as she had scrambled
back up, hampered as she was without the use of her arms, he
knocked her off again, while Wren looked on, petrified.

"Why is she gagged?"

"She wouldn't be quiet."

He yanked it out and stood her between his knees. "She will when
I want to talk to her! Well, Miss? What have done now?"

No answer. He knocked her down and dragged her up again.

"I was rude to an Uncle -"

"Then you are for it, Miss!" Another series of slaps.

"And she made poor Matthew fuck her!" said Betty indignantly.

"Why, the little whore! This calls for the cellar."

Robin stated shrieking, but Betty unlocked a door I had not
noticed before, and Greg shoved her through. I heard her falling
down some steps into the darkness. "I'll be down to see to you in
a few minutes, you little whore!" he shouted, and shut the door
on her screams. "She doesn't like the cellar," he said
apologetically. "Now, Matthew, let's open a can or two and have a
chat. You" - he pointed to Wren - "fetch them and hurry up about
it."

When we were fixed up with our beers, he slapped me on the knee.
"Well, Matthew old sport, what's the deal?"

"Well, Betty said you would be fucking Robin tonight?"

"That's for sure," he chuckled.

"And I am going to watch that. And then -"

"Yes? Out with it sport."

"I'd like to take Robin to my place sometimes."

"Well," he said, "that would really cost to make it worth our
while. She has a very busy schedule, you know." He glanced round
the room. Absolute luxury everywhere belied the shabby exterior
of the house. "We do pretty good with short sessions."

"I, on the other hand," I said, "happen to be obscenely rich. My
father's fault, not mine, I assure you. And I fancy Robin as a
friend for Jessica. I want her on Tuesdays. I want to have her
with her arms like she is now. I suppose that harness will fit
the cradle I have?"

"Oh yes." He seemed to be deep in thought. "Maybe we could use
Wren on Tuesdays. Wren, come here." He took the trembling child
over his lap and fingered her bottom. "Her arse is just as nice
as Robin's, don't you think?"

"Certainly."

He turned her over, and fingered her plump little slit. "And ripe
for fucking - double price for a virgin, but I think I would want
to be first - I wonder how it would work, using her instead of
her sister on Tuesdays?"

"It might be very effective, actually," I said.

"Yes," he agreed, "interesting. Ok then you can have Robin on
Tuesdays if we can agree a price."

"There is only one problem," I said, as Wren scuttled away in
terror. "Jessica will want to release Robin. I have never seen
Robin with arms and I would rather keep it that way. Suits my
imagination, you know, to suppose she has been amputated. Can you
fit a lock to the harness? Then I can say that you do not allow
me to have the key."

"Sure, no problem. Hey, amputation! What a wild idea!"

Our business discussions concluded, and quite a few beers later,
Greg and I looked down into the cellar. Wooden steps led down
into darkness, and a child sobbing. Greg turned a switch and
bright light flooded the room below. I saw that it was just a
room with padded walls and what looked like a padded floor also.
As the lights came on, Robin scuttled into a corner. Her arms
were bound up behind her back as firmly as ever - it was quite
easy to imagine she had none.

"Shall we use belts or birches?" asked Greg. "Belts I think. I
prefer the whip, myself, but unfortunately we can't use them in
term time, too many marks. Wren, sit at the top of the steps and
see that your little sister doesn't come up." He turned to me.
"Wren is older by a few minutes," he explained to me, "which is
why I chose Robin as the one to be punished."

So we went down the steps carrying belts. They were actually
broad leather straps which were specially made. We started
beating her as she ran frantically round and round the walls and
scampered across the floor. Even if her arms had been free, she
could not have escaped as much punishment as we wished to give
her. At one time she ran into me, and I held her to me as Greg
thrashed away at her buttocks for several minutes. The feel of
her struggling little body in my arms was absolutely delicious.

She was screaming a lot, but apparently it didn't matter down
here.

At one time she tried to scramble up the steps, only to fall back
into her Father's grip. I saw the glazed look in Wren's eyes as
he watched her sister's despair. I could understand why she was
obedient, poor kid, imagining all the things her sister had to
endure, probably making them even worse in her imagination than
they actually were.

"Frog!" shouted Greg, and Robin tried to hop like a frog.
"Kangaroo!" Her efforts at leaping like a Kangaroo were very
amusing, and exposed her red bottom nicely.

But Greg was not done yet. "Hold her." He produced a large rubber
band from his pocket, at the sight of which she wriggled out of
my clutch and ran into a corner. "Grab her legs while I put this
on." I did so, and soon her ankles were locked together. Now she
wriggled around the floor like a snake, bottom up, the perfect
target.

After a while we both stood back, panting, watching her squirm
around on the floor, armless and ankles tied.

"I don't know about you," said Greg, "but I'm ready to fuck her
right now. Why bother with the cradle? We can always do her again
later, if we are strong enough."

"Won't it hurt her more like this?"

"Oh yes!" he said. "She is much tighter like this. Very
enjoyable, I find."

"Right!" I said. She certainly was a very appealing little morsel
just as she was. "Who goes first?"

******

When I picked Jessica up from school for my next Tuesday with
her, she was really excited.

"Today I am allowed a dress when we get home, right?"

She was not allowed to wear school uniform after school, so had
been naked the previous week, her first Tuesday with me during
school time. I nodded.

"And panties?" she added anxiously, cuddling up to me in the car.

"Yes," I said. "As long as you are good, of course. You know what
to do if I need to spank you."

"Oh yes," she said blithely. "But I expect you will allow me to
get dressed again after being spanked, if I am not very bad." No
beatings I gave her came anywhere close to what she was used to
at home. I loved the little brat, but her parents hated her as
the cuckoo in the nest, the unwanted child of rape.

As soon as we got to my home, she changed into one of my absent
niece's very fetching summer dresses, a little short for her but
all the better for that. Then she made me a pot of tea, and fired
up my computer and logged on to bdsmbooks.com for me. She is
already better with my computer than I am. Then she turned on the
television to a children's channel and settled down just like any
normal little girl of nine. It was a very refreshing change, I
found, from starting the evening with her naked over my lap for a
spanking. This week I had something juicier in store. Robin!

"Jess," I said. She was at my side instantly, pulling off her
treasured panties, then over my knee, holding up the hem of the
dress to expose her saucy little bottom. "No, no" I said, giving
her a playful slap, "this not a spanking, I have a treat for you.
Robin is coming to play with you."

"Oh wow. That will be lovely. She's very naughty, isn't she, to
make her Daddy beat her like that, so much worse than mine does
to me? Do you think she is younger than me?"

"A little, perhaps."

"Yes. I bet I have my tenth birthday first! I bet I'll be the
boss. Is she staying the night? Will she come in bed with us? I
think she should sleep on the floor, she's so naughty. You will
need to spank her really hard."

"Would you like to spank her?" I asked. What she had said so far
was not at all what I had expected.

"Oh yes, may I? Everyone spanks me, it is time I had somebody to
spank back! Go get her now!"

"Soon," I said. I knew Robin would need preparing for me, so I
waited a while before I set out for her home, leaving Jessica
glued to the telly. I had still not touched her, despite the
week's wait and the unfinished bit of business I always left over
so I could have a good excuse to start off the next week with a
spanking. My thoughts were all of Robin, luscious little Robin
being thrashed and raped so savagely by that horrible father -
well, to be fair to him, he was not her natural father, for the
twins had been adopted when they were very small.

When I arrived, Greg, the father, was just fitting her arm
harness, and I had a chance to see how it worked. There was a bar
across the shoulders, behind the neck. It did not make the child
bend forward - indeed, I soon saw, the harness braced her up and
prevented her from slouching at all, and held her very stiff and
upright above the waist. The arms were twisted up behind the
back, so that each wrist could be cuffed to the bar near the
opposite ear, then tied where they crossed. Then a kind of bolero
jacket of thin stretch material was slipped over her shoulders
from behind, covering the arms. It was then pulled down tightly
and zipped down the front, and the bottom ends of it wrapped
round her body to be secured behind her back, where a small
padlock had been fitted at my request.

"The lock is a good idea," said Greg, popping the key on the
mantelpiece. "Hardly adds to the cost at all. I think we will
keep it in the design. Shut your eyes, Matthew - now you girls,
Parade!"

When I opened my eyes the twins stood together at attention
against the wall, facing it. Both had identical arm harness on,
both were naked below the bolero jackets. Two enchanting little
pairs of buttocks stood out, as alike as peas in a pod.

"The harness thrusts out the breasts, when there are any, and
also the buttocks, as you see. Turn!"

When they were facing me, I still did not know which was Robin.

"Matthew's shoes are dirty," said Greg. "Lick!"

One child ran to me and started licking my shoes. I hauled her to
her feet by her long red hair. "Hullo Wren," I said. "G-g-good
evening S-s-sir." She was terrified as I sent her back to the
wall, where Robin still stood, stubbornly refusing to move.

"Well, there you have it," chuckled their father. "Wren is not
looking forward to standing in for Robin with tonight's clients,
and Robin deserves a good thrashing for impoliteness, which no
doubt you will provide." He hung a cloak round her shoulders.
"Take the little cunt away and do with her as you will. Don't
worry about marking her, they have their schooling at home, you
know." He put her dog collar on, the one with the useful little
strap hanging from it, and pushed her towards me.

"What time do you want her back in the morning?"

"No hurry to a good payer like you! Shall we say midday?"

During the drive she sat bolt upright in her seat, saying
nothing. When we arrived I took off the cloak and tossed it in
the back, ready for morning. Robin sat gazing around in
amazement, as if she had never seen the countryside before.
Probably she never had. What would she make of the seaside, I
wondered?

I hoisted her out of her seat and set her on her feet. "Well, my
girl," I said, "here we are - time for me to get some value for
what I have paid for you."

And then she kicked me! Bare feet, but quite a shock. And she
ran, just as Jessica came out of the front door. For a moment
Jess stood there, shocked by what she had seen, and then she was
off after Robin. It was no contest, a girl with arms and one
without. Jess sat on Robin, and I took the rubber band I had
bought from Greg from my pocket and secured her ankles. Now she
was even more helpless.

"Wow!" said Jess, scrambling to her feet as I picked Robin up..
"What a naughty girl, kicking you like that. We shall have to
punish her."

"We shall indeed," I said. As I dumped Robin in a chair.

"Are you going to beat the shit out of her?" Jessica asked
seriously. Something she had heard at home, no doubt, but
directed at her.

"I certainly am!"

"Good - you won't need to spank me, then. Are you going to fuck
her?"

"Later."

I saw Jess wondering if she dare ask if I was going to fuck her
too, but she didn't quite manage it. "Three for supper then," she
said. "If we are going to feed her." "No, just cook for us. She
has her food with her."

"What if she wants to poo?"

"She can't," I said. "She has a butt plug in." I turned to Robin.
"Show Jessica your butt plug." She bent over and spread her legs.

"Wow!" said Jessica. "What's that for?"

"To make that hole wider, so she can be fucked that way."

"Oh!" Jessica became very solemn. "Of course! Uncle Bob likes
that." Bob was the man who had her on Mondays, as I did Tuesdays.
It was nice, hearing that, for I am a voyeur, remember. I like to
imagine things that I have no wish to do.

"Now Robin," I said, "Let's see what it is like to beat you -
over my knee."

She gazed at me, then pointed to her butt plug, barely visible
though it was.

"Maybe her Dad takes it out before spanking her?" said Jess.

"Well, he didn't say I should," I said. I patted my knee, and
Robin made a hopping run for it, the best she could do with no
arms and the ankle band. I dragged her out of the corner by her
hair and took her my over my knee. Spanking that wriggling little
armless body on the butt plug with the strap from her collar was
the best I thrill I have ever had. Half way through I removed the
ankle band so I could open her legs. I did not stop until I came
in my trousers.

"Wow!" said Jess admiringly. And perhaps a little apprehensively.
"I didn't know you could hit so hard."

We set a place for Robin at the dinner table and placed her meal
before her. It was dry porridge oats and a glass of milk. It was
fun watching her bend forward to suck in the oats, but she
cleared her plate and I made her lick it clean. "I'll feed her
her milk," said Jessica, but instead of holding the glass to
Robin's lips, she poured it into a saucer and watched in
satisfaction as the poor little creature lapped it up.

"She is allowed a treat now," I said. "She can have an apple.
Would you like an apple, Robin?"

She nodded eagerly.

"Do we have an apple, Jess?"

I could see the word 'no' forming on Jessica's lips, then
suddenly she nodded, and fetched one. She cut it into slices and
held one out towards Robin. Then, as Robin opened her mouth,
Jessica put it into her own. "Hm!" she said. "This is delicious.
I'm not wasting it on a worthless little brat who is just here to
be beaten." She ate the next slice. "And fucked," she added.

There was not much I could do about that.

After Dinner, it was time for Robin to hear a few home truths.
"Come here!" I said, and she crept over to me on her knees. I
lifted her over my lap as if I was going to spank her then and
there. At last she was here, at my mercy, and the feeling was
good as I fingered her shrinking little form and gloated over
what was to come.

"Now Robin," I said. "You are here because your parents have sold
you to me for every Tuesday. I can do anything I want to you,
anything at all. All you have had so far is a little warm up.
Mow, Jessica wants to know when your birthday is?"

"I - I don't know. I - I don't have birthdays."

I was sorry for the poor little creature for a moment. "Stand
back to back with Jessica. Yes, Jess, you are taller than she is
so we will say you are older. Now, Robin, I have paid your
parents for you, what do you think I shall do to you?"

"I expect you will fuck me," she said, in a very subdued little
voice.

"And?"

"And beat me."

"And?"

Her eyes went back to the bullwhip over the mantelpiece, which
had seemed to fascinate her.

"I expect you will whip me." She started to cry.

"Crying is not allowed," I said sharply, and she stopped
immediately. I took the bullwhip down and stroked her with it. "I
may not need this today," I said, "if you are very obedient." I
was really getting in the mood. "Yes," I said, "you are here to
be fucked and beaten and maybe whipped, you are here to give
pleasure to me. To me you are just a nice soft little body with
no arms that can be fucked and beaten as much as I wish. I enjoy
beating little girls, don't I Jessica?"

"Yes, he does," she said ruefully. "But I've got a dress and
panties now and you haven't, so there! You are nothing but a no
good half-caste and nobody will ever love you." I saw that Jess
had not understood everything she had been told at home, but no
matter, I would deal with that later.

"Jess," I said, pointing to my knee, and in an instant she lay
naked upon it. I gave her a couple of light slaps. "Just so you
know who is really in charge." A gave her a couple more gentle
slaps. "Get dressed, put those precious panties on, but remember
it is only while I say so."

I turned to Robin. "You will call me Sir," I said, "and you will
call Miss Jessica Miss and curtsey when you speak to her. Get up
and say hullo to Jessica."

"Good evening, Miss," said Robin, coming to stand before her and
trying a curtsey, rather erotic with no arms, and stood there
waiting.

"If you are rude to me," I said, "then I must whip you, because
you will get plenty of ordinary beatings anyway. And if you are
rude to Jessica -"

"I shall tickle her!" And in an instant poor Robin became a
writhing shrieking hysterical thing rolling about on the carpet.
"Wow!" chuckled Jess, clapping her hands. "She sure is ticklish.
I know how to torment her now!"

So the scene was set, an exhilarating evening in store. When
Robin was not needed she stood in a corner with her back to us.
Jessica really enjoyed creeping up behind her as quietly as she
could and either tickling her or giving her a swipe with the
strap.

We set a place for Robin at the dinner table and while we feasted
she managed to eat the plate of raw porridge oatmeal her father
had ordered. I made her lick the plate clean. There was a glass
of milk also, which Jessica poured into a saucer for her to lap
up instead of holding to her lips.

"She is allowed an apple as a treat," I said. "Would you like an
apple, Robin?"

"Oh yes please, Sir."

"Do we have an apple, Jess?" I asked.

I saw the word 'no' coming to Jessica's lips, then a change of
plan. She fetched an apple and began cutting it into slices.
"Mm!" she said, tasting a slice. "Here we go!" She held out a
slice and then, as Robin opened her mouth, popped it into her
own. "I'm not going to waste something as nice as this on a
no-good little girl who came here to be beaten and fucked," she
said.

When we had finished our meal, Jessica said she and |Robin would
play hide and seek. "At least Robin will hide," she said, "and
when I find her I will tickle her. Off you go Robin." She set out
our chess set. "Now, Uncle Matthew, it is time for my next
lesson. I know how prawns move now, and that is half of all the
pieces, so come on, I shall soon be winning."

Being allowed a dress and panties had done wonders for her
self-confidence, I thought. It was fine with me, because I knew
she would be over my knee for a spanking any time I wished.
Eventually I said, "You better go and find Robin - it is
bedtime."

"I won't have her in bed with us."

"Oh yes you will - go get her."

After a while she came into the bedroom. "She can't come in bed
after all," she said. "She is too smelly. Come and see."

I followed Jess to the bathroom, and there in the bath was Robin.

"Why is she wet?"

"I peed on her!" said Jessica proudly. "You can spank me for it
and wash her and bring her to bed, or you can pee on her yourself
and we can leave her here. I can use my hands, I will make you
happy in bed better than she could."

The idea of Robin in the bath while I was in bed with a Jessica
who intended to seduce me was overwhelming.

"Stay there, Robin," I said, as she lay there on her back in the
big bath, sobbing her heart out. "We haven't done what I paid for
you for yet. I will be along in the morning for your proper
beating and the fucking." Jess seemed to have peed over her face,
so I aimed at her crotch. "Don't go away!" I mocked her. To make
sure that she didn't I slipped the rubber band round her ankles
before turning the light out and locking the door behind me.

Jessica was great in bed. I had not intended to fuck her, but
thinking of Robin, especially what I would do to her in the
morning, really fired me up. Yes, Jess is becoming much more
co-operative, quite the little expert, so having her was enough
for the rest of that day.