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***
“So, Mistress, how come we’re not wearing hoods?”
Amethyst often wondered if Helga ever rolled her eyes at her own constant questions when they first started playing. Back when she had only experienced S&M through porn and various light attempts at self-play for masturbation behind a locked door. The vole remembered it clearly, being so laser-focused and excited for the next hard thing Helga could do that the pig had to keep her in line. “There’s a difference between a brat and someone topping from the bottom,” She’d say, stopping any play soon after. It taught Amy rather quickly.
Rebecca, on the other hand, was still learning the ins and outs of the lifestyle. The pitbull was far from virginal at it, but she had a habit of expectations. Even now, with both of them naked save for the ballet boots and the straps binding a single arm to each back, the girl expected a little more to cement her status.
“First off, you don’t need to call me mistress when we’re both in bondage. Unless Helga tells you.” And Amethyst knew Helga said no such thing as she discussed today’s exercise. Her girlfriend took it upon herself to figure out everyone’s taxes this year, and not wanting her ‘pets’ to be bored while she held herself off in the kitchen, Helga assigned them to dust around the house. She doubted the feather dusters actually worked, but she’d done enough servitude play to know that half the time it was to keep them occupied while burgeoning their submissive drive.
And the other half was Helga in lazy domme mode.
“Sorry, M–Sorry.” Rebecca bowed her head. Amethyst didn’t even try to reciprocate. Not out of disrespect or rank, but rather because she had enough issues standing on her tippy-toes as is. The venomous hiss of envy crawled up her spine as she watched the pitbull move about with grace and balance. But of course Rebecca would have agility, MMA training incorporated it, and being a pacifist didn’t remove reflexes.
Meanwhile all of Amethyst’s found herself winded after one morning jog. The former track star curled up and melted into the black pit of shame deep in the corner of her brain. “As for the hoods, well, funny story about that, actually.”
“Oh?” Rebecca asked, dusting along a bookcase filled with a random assortment of college textbooks, classical books, and magazines fit for Helga’s inner gearhead. “Something happened to you?”
“No,” She shook her head, relieved it didn’t. “It was before me. Helga’s had a long list of lovers, quite a few she keeps videos of in her closet.”
The pittie’s eyes became dinner plates over pink cheeks. “She keeps wh–” Amethyst snapped the pitbull’s jaw shut before she could finish, pursing her lips to shush her.
“Videos. She likes to record for prosperity. She even has a photo album called ‘Helga’s Harlots’.”
“I don’t remember her having a camera out in our sessions.”
“She hasn’t done it much recently. Not sure.” There was a tinge of worry across Rebecca’s face, but it vanished in a blink. “Look, point is that she’s had lovers in the past. And more than a few times she’d had one wear a hood when walking throughout the house. Well, one of her neighbors thought they saw a burglar while peeping through the window, and they called the cops.”
“Seriously?” Amethyst nodded. “The police?” She nodded again. “Oh my god, what happened after that?”
“A long and awkward conversation, and better blinds in the kitchen.” Amethyst resumed dusting, “So yeah, that’s why she doesn’t have us wear hoods when cleaning.”
The pitbull nodded and returned back to dusting, then stopped and asked. “So wait, is that why I get a side-eye from the giraffe next door?”
“Tell me the next time Jerry does that,” Helga called out from the kitchen. “Also, I hear a lot of talking and not enough sweeping. Do I have to get the gags?”
Amethyst smiled, “Maybe, Momma. Maybe.”