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Redefining Punishment

By: Smokey125



While I'm taking a little intermission from my regular numbered third-person stories, I thought I would try something a little different and see how it goes over. Up till now I've been playing with mostly moderate, relatively safe BDSM. This story pushes the limits of extreme BDSM and pain. This story makes the "Hell And Back" series look like a walk in the park (even part 3!). This is my fifth holiday salute, and also my first experiment writing in first-person and playing with the dynamics thereof, from a female POV, no less, and also my first story written in present tense, getting in touch with my inner submissive lesbian.

 

***

 

May 11th, 7:02 p.m.

 

Oh dear, I think, wiping nervous perspiration from my forehead as I run red lights and stop signs. Oh dear oh dear oh dear...this is not good. This is most definitely not good at all.

Mistress Helen is expecting me. She has ordered me to appear before her at her home-office-den-dungeon at precisely 7:00 sharp. I am at least ten minutes from my destination, and it's already 7:02. I am in such trouble. I sweat profusely, despite the exceptionally cool 68° spring weather. It is such a beautiful day today, and I am so oblivious to it as I can think of nothing except panic. I would attempt to ring and alert her of my tardiness, but it would do no good. One thing I learned first and foremost is that an appointment with Mistress Helen is not like any traditional sort of appointment. It is made crystal-clear that you are not to be tardy on Mistress Helen's watch. Her demands are firm and non-negotiable. Under no circumstances is being so much as a second late permissible. She does not tolerate lateness, and she does not forgive mistakes.

Oh no...Mistress Helen is going to be so cross with me. I do not even want to think about what she'll do to me.

My name is Delilah Gainey. I'm 24 years old, and up until six months ago, I lived the relatively normal life of your more or less everyday lesbian (or a basic variety thereof): I worked at a retail store to put myself through school, I wore a rainbow bracelet, fleece and Doc Martens, I cut and cropped my hair, I covered my car in bumper stickers, I hung out with my platonic friend Matt and our mutual chick-buddy Holly, I chased pretty girls together with them, and I idolized Martina. And I fell in absolute love with the Plain White Ts, for obvious reasons...okay, that's just li'l' ol' me. Things were going well enough. I was a level-headed gal with her feet firmly on the ground, but somehow I felt something was...missing. Then, I left it all behind, as my life drastically changed.

That's when I met Mistress Helen.

Had we not crossed paths back in early November last year, I would never in a million years have guessed what it was that was lacking. The logic was simple: it was precisely Mistress Helen herself which was missing in my life.

A month and a half after my 24th birthday, I was on the way back to my car one day when she materialized, as if out of nowhere. I can only guess she was standing behind the tree adjacent to the lot. All I remember is opening the door and looking up to see an intimidation-inspiring, ravishingly hot 5'9" brunette in her 40s, standing ten feet from me, directly on the other side of my Malibu.

She was smiling at me, cordial and yet ominous. She introduced herself, and the rest has since remained something of a blur. Her bright jade eyes seemed to hypnotize me as I gazed into them. They were irresistible. For all I know she did hypnotize me that day. I might've literally levitated into the air and floated senselessly after her like in a dream as she led me to her home and lair.

She asked me to tell her about myself. We spoke about me for a bit, then Mistress Helen took me down into her dungeon, shackled me and told me about her. I could not explain exactly what it was about the restraint that generated the feeling of pure pleasure and desire in me, but it instantly fired me up. Mistress informed me that she engages in what is called adopted lesbian domination (or "lezdom," for short).

Why precisely she referred to it as "adopted" lezdom I have never been certain.

To the casual observer, my association with Mistress Helen would seem akin to that of a cult leader inducting a susceptible innocent, for a sabbatical of torture and mind control. And said casual observer may be correct, as just as Mistress controls my mind and runs me through a series of excruciating bodily torments, she has also trained my psyche and my pussy to expertly serve and worship her. She has mesmerized me, and entranced me, until my every daily thought and my every nightly dream is infused with the presence of my beloved sorceress. She is my empress and my temptress. I live her, I breathe her.

And yet for all my worship in the splendor that is Mistress Helen, the extent of my knowledge on her is just this: her first name, where she dwells, and that my pussy belongs to her. She dominates me 100% without question. Our relationship goes beyond being a top and bottom. She is the zenith. She's the summit. I am the nadir, the deepest fathom below sea level.

Today, the second Sunday in May, will be my seventh monthly session with Mistress. Well, that is, presuming she does not turn me away for being tardy. I am so petrified that she may do this, or worse to me. A terrible traffic jam has obstructed my trek to her domicile, and now I know I am toast. My goose is cooked. Sweat drips off my face and my heart pounds in fright. I am so terrified of my eventual consequences.

I could not bear to be banned from her premises.

Since I have known her, Mistress Helen has gradually, methodically commandeered my soul. She has taken over my mind and become a much more significant part of my life to this day than could be done without. She not only filled the empty void in my life that craved such direction, she shoved me into the metaphorical passenger seat and took the wheel herself. I would like to say for sure that I made the decision to begin adopted lezdom/worship with her of my own free will and sound mind, but I cannot. I would like to say that I held the reins for myself and opted of my own volition to try this with her, but I cannot. Nor can I any longer maintain control over myself when in her presence. Her psychological hold over me has become insurmountably powerful.

Since our initial session in November, the opening regimen remains the same. Upon my arrival, Mistress beckons me inside and politely instructs me to quietly shut and lock the door behind me. She forces me to surrender my purse and remove my clothing, and I am unable to so much as contemplate defying her. I am naked to the bone. She orders me to stay put while she confiscates my belongings and hides them in a secret location in her den to which I am not privy. She returns shoeless, gestures to her sumptuous feet on the floor, and I lower myself to all fours to kiss and nuzzle them.

As I am orally loving her toes, down to her insteps and back again, she raises one warm, soft, pretty bare foot and lightly kicks the side of my face, reprimanding me for nothing more than simply being such a pitiful, worthless slut, and I revel in the humiliation. I am already moist, insatiably submissive to my hungry core, and she knows it. She circles and fiercely spanks me for dampening without her permission. It stings like hell, and in a brutal cycle turns me on and moistens me yet more. She knows she already owns me. She attaches my chained collar to my neck and I become her obedient pup. I remember Mistress delighting in the fact that my middle name is Olivia, my initials spelling the word "dog". She told me she had always wanted a dog, a role which I now fulfill for her. She walks me down the hall and around the corner until we reach the staircase. I carefully make my way down and we descend to the basement-dungeon, where it is dark, dingy and gray, and every sound echoes. The atmosphere is eerie and unpleasant. Deserving dishonor and shame as I do, I am to wait in the corner until she decides she is ready to begin.

The Mistress deliberately takes her time going about business, for the sole purpose of frustrating me. She knows I cannot stand the waiting. She takes ruthless advantage of each weakness she discovers within me, and my resistance holds not a candle to her almighty coercion. I helplessly fall at her feet and melt at her relentless domination. Like the finest dominatrices, Mistress Helen possesses a vicious cruel streak, but as well a wonderfully sadistic sense of humor. It fills her with such devilish glee to terrorize me so mentally as well as physically. She knows just how to thrill me and just how to make me suffer...and ache...and burn for her. When we reach the climax of our play, I am each time roughly forced to come for her, explosively, without inhibition or reserve. My moisture and come spray all over myself and the floor, and I am left to clean up my mess.

And when our session has concluded, she releases me, to continue about my life, but yet maintains constant presence in my mind.

But I am getting far ahead of myself. Oh my God! I think frantically. I have almost just struck another vehicle because I cannot concentrate. I am so deathly afraid. Yet I cannot go back. I cannot turn and run from Mistress Helen. Her magnetic pull on me is far too great. I have no choice; I must come to her. In each sense of the word.

At 7:08, we at last reach the emergency situation on the road which has been hindering our progress, concealed by police cars. I hope everyone is all right, but I mustn't concern myself. It's imperative I press on to my impending doom. Tears join my sweat and I swipe them away. Finally, at 7:14 I careen around the corner and arrive.

I am whimpering and shaking as I shift the car into park and push myself out. I do not check to make sure the car is locked, I only shut it and scramble to the front door. I notice the inside door is shut. This is a bad sign. Upon each previous session for which I have been summoned, only the transparent outside screen door has been shut, and I am to see myself in. Hands trembling, knuckles snow-white, I place myself between the screen and front doors and gently attempt to push the latter open. No access.

Oh dear.

Oh, she is going to make me pay for this. I close my eyes in a wince, and push in the doorbell just enough to activate it. I lower my head and clasp my hands in front of me like the naughty whore I know I am, and stare at my feet as I wait for the response.

And wait I do. At least sixty seconds pass before I hear the lock click inside and the door slowly creaks open.

I do not need to look up to discern how displeased she is. I timidly step inside.

I do not see her at first, but I am not eager to look into her countenance of obvious disapproval. I turn to shut and lock the door, as per our normal arrangements. Her shadow comes into view. I follow it up to finally look into her cold, blood-chilling eyes.

"M—...M-Mistress Helen," I stammer out, "I am so, SO, so sorry, I...I ran into traffic, and I know I should have left earlier, and it's all my fault. And I know how much trouble I'm in. I just can't even express how remorseful I feel right now. I—"

She places a finger to my lips.

"Silence."

"Yes, Mistress," I silently mouth, bowing my head with sad, ashamed eyes, as she removes the finger. She caresses my cheek and I fearfully close my eyes and brace myself, waiting for the disciplinary blow.

But it does not come. A bit bemused, I wait a moment, open one eye, then the other, to see her gazing blankly back at me.

My eyes drop. "I'm sorry, Mistr—" I start to whisper before she shushes me again. She waits a moment, and the next word she says is, "Clothes."

She is ordering me to undress. I do not exactly understand. It's as if I did not arrive late at all, and she is proceeding with our normal routine. I have been a full fourteen minutes late. I do not get it; I was certain she would virtually crucify me for my actions, helpless though they were. Is she perhaps...softening? It seems inconceivable. I wish to ask her what is going on, but I sense it's better to remain speechless. I begin instead to merely strip for her, as is status quo.

I relinquish my purse and remove each garment, one by one, handing them to Mistress Helen. Thus far, it is as if nothing is different from our first six sessions. I am still mystified, but now feeling a bit more relieved. Once I am naked, she departs with my clothes to relocate them. I wait patiently for her to return, still quite nervous but no longer certain how much trouble I am in.

As I wait, I try to make sense of it all. But I can't. Mistress Helen is positively merciless. Anyone who knows what she is capable of would attest. Any person abreast of the details of our first six sessions, now presented with my current set of circumstances, would be just as baffled as I. Perhaps this is all part of her chastisement, to confuse me before she really brings the ax down.

She returns, shoes off, now once again in her lovely size 8 bare feet. Oh, what pedal beauties. She points downwards, and I assume the doggy position. Had I an actual tail, I would not be able to keep it still. I can see the sheen left on Mistress' wonderful feet from the fresh coat of vanilla-scented edible lotion she has just applied. They look more delicious than ever. They are actually compelling me to salivate in the back of my mouth. She signals me by arching them, and I am only too ecstatic as always to begin worshiping Mistress Helen's delectable feet.

I passionately kiss them. I nose them, I lick them, I nibble them, I taste them. Traces of lotion transfer and smear my face as I carry out my initial duties. I try hard as I can to will my cunt to remain dry, but of course fail.

Mistress takes me only semi-forcefully by the hair, and shoves my face to the floor. I bury it, remain stationary and wince as I anticipate being struck on the ass, to keep my libido in check.

I feel nothing. After a short while I blink open my eyes warily and raise my face an inch.

SMACK!

Everything flashes red.

Mistress Helen has tricked me. Once again. She knew I was waiting for it, and she purposely held off on the spanking until she could see I had let my guard down. I have ceased bracing myself, and she has taken this window to deal a stroke of epic proportions.

The first sting zaps through me, and immediately following it, the promptly swelling arousal. I squeal, trying to keep my voice down as my body warms up and goosebumps leap on my skin. I do not need a mirror to see the red, hand-shaped pattern of welts she has just branded on my right ass cheek. For a few moments, nothing happens.

But I then feel the prolonged terror come over me as Mistress traces a single fingertip lightly over her handprint on my tender rump, and the agony squeezes my eyes shut. I open my mouth and exhale a stifled cry of pain. The most gentle fingertip caress torching my ass is a testament to Mistress Helen's fiery intensity. I fight the tears back as I remind myself this is only the beginning.

 



Redefining Punishment... Again



A sequel now then to my first-person present-tense "Redefining Punishment," with a short accompanying companion poem. 

*** 

October 11th, 8:36 a.m. 

It has been exactly five months since Mommy, p.k.a. Mistress Helen, has "adopted" me as her slave-puppy-daughter. I have since over this summer left any remnants of my past life behind. I am still essentially the same person underneath it all—25-year-old Delilah Olivia Gainey from Tudorville—and yet, my identity has taken a dramatic shift of late. Prior to this spring I lived on my own, as a single lesbian with an apartment, friends and a job. I was basically happy and content...or so I believed. Before I met Mommy Helen, I was not even aware that something was lacking in my life, let alone what it was. 

My relationship with Mommy Helen began as a series of monthly meetings as slave to her—my Mistress. Soon after, Mommy demoted me (or promoted me, depending on how you view the transformation) to her whipping pup. My soft, delicate, innocent heart and pussy questionlessly gave themselves over to her. I should be fibbing to you, Beloved Visitor and Reader, were I to tell you that I knew whether she cast a spell on me or simply possessed such a captivating magnetism that I was drawn to her not of my own free will. Either way, my emotional and physical surrender to her was involuntary. 

You may be familiar already with the remainder of my story, Dear Friend, but in the case you are not, I will encapsulate it for you. On Mother's Day of this year I was due to appear at Mistress Helen's—as she was then still known to me—domicile, but I was detained in traffic and could not in time. I knew then that even so, I was in trouble, and I was in it deep. It mattered not that the situation was out of my hands; I was tardy, and tardiness is a crime for which Mistress Helen yields no compassion. 

Mistress coerced me through a series of multifarious terrors the likes of which I'd never known before and can merely pray never to again. She truly redefined the concept of punishment. New levels were explored. Hidden depths were plunged. Closed portals to unfathomable reaches of mystery were unlocked. She shone the light and showed me the simple, honest truth. 

I was a bad girl. 

I am a bad girl. 

And I am her bad girl. 

And this is all I ever shall be from these days forth. 

Call it a brainwash, call it psychological poisoning, call it power of compulsive suggestion. Call it what you will, my friend. There remains no reasonable, rational or logical explanation. It is a simple reflection of the way things currently stand. Once upon a time, I was a sweet, normal, well-behaved, genteel young lady. 

Now, I am daughter to Mistress—forgive me; Mommy—Helen, and my future knows no further endeavors. 

I belong, to her. 

Life with Mommy Helen hasn't presented itself exactly as expected. Five months ago when she imprisoned me, I was terrified, broken and helpless. I felt that life as I knew it was over. In a way, you could say it was. In another, you might say that a new, momentous chapter had just commenced. But I was soon to discover to my surprise, Mistress—my assumed Mommy—wished not to confine me to her quarters for the purpose of eternal castigation and torment. My sentence is being served as we speak, in indefinite to permanent residence here, but observation questions the degree to which I am truly being "grounded," as it were. 

The nature of this situation caught me off-guard in May. Mentally and physically terrorized by Mommy's brutally fierce scolding of my tardiness, I expected the days to follow to entail more of the identical. But I near dare say the person who returned to the house that fateful Sunday was in fact not the same who had gone. When Mommy Helen came home, something in her demeanor I could not define had radically changed. All I know is that same day, when Mommy descended back to the basement and found me in tears, she relieved me of my shackles, and slicked her tongue in long, thorough, almost even tender strokes, up the sides of my face, licking my tears away. 

The next she said was simply as follows. 

"Come...daughter." 

The mystery unraveled as I began spending all of my days and nights under Mommy's care. I was orphaned at a young age, and spent the better part of my youth at a foster home, a story I told her prior to one of our initial sessions. One morning in May soon after adopting me, she told me a story, about a little girl once upon a time who was struck by the tragedy of a natural disaster, and was robbed of everyone and everything she held dear. It was a solemn and heartbreaking tale that I was soon to learn was serendipitously...autobiographical. 

Mommy was that little girl. 

This transformation in her was simply remarkable. It was awesome, in the purest and most literal sense of the word. Her story left me breathless. It was the first time I can remember beholding genuine emotion seeping through Mommy's normally stone-cold façade. Up to this point, the Mistress Helen I knew was a cold, calculating, ruthless domme who made me burn for her torture one moment, then cry for mercy the next. When I learned the truth, my heart bled for her. Suddenly, all came clear in my eyes. When she took me under her wing as her slave last year, I was no more than merely this. But I was astounded to be told that over these past several months, Mommy had grown to care for me. It seemed she wanted me for her own yet before that groundbreakingly horrifying day. 

Our encounters proved to be remarkably fortuitous. Mommy became the parent I had virtually never known, and I became the child she had never had. We both needed someone, and in this unusual twist, found our ways into each other's lives. 

My astonishment broadened to parallel my knowledge as she told me more and more. My mind was swept as she admitted to me that my lateness deeply wounded, as well as disappointed her. She did not reveal to me whether she was consequently scared that she might have lost me—thereby thrusting such unforgettable ferocity upon me in the way of discipline and reprimand, ensuring I would never disappoint her this way again—or strictly angry. I almost immediately ejected the first possibility. Mistress Helen, afraid? Of anything? No. This couldn't be. Not the Mistress Helen I knew. Nothing intimidated her. 

...Or...did it? 

I dared not actually broach the subject with her, for I knew precisely how she would respond. It was a riddle with which I would have to wrestle for a while. But were there one thing I had in no short supply, it was time. A whole life to figure it out. 

Since dwelling in her home, she has taken me to bed each night to fall asleep in her arms. She subsequently began gently easing me into a daily routine. In the mornings she would, and continues to this day, to bathe me. It remains one of my favorite daily activities. She massages a marvelously blended shampoo and conditioner through my hair and proceeds to baptize me. She dispenses and applies liquid wash to my goosebump-ridden flesh and scrubs me ever so thoroughly. The tantalizing sensations accelerate beyond words. When I close my eyes, her cool, fair hands are bestowed with the touch of divine sorcery. She polishes until I gleam, and I never want to leave here. 

The water and effervescent bubbles fill to the brim with ninety-six pounds of Delilah Gainey deposited into the cauldron, and it is a most fortunate circumstance. For even while my desires and impulses and cravings remain uncontrollable, should Mommy detect my guiltily throbbing, starved pussy, blood-red clit and stiffened nipples beneath the frothy surface, I should without doubt be further punished for my arousal without her permission. 

I digress briefly to mention that though our relationship has thus metamorphosed from Mistress and slave into adopted mother and daughter, my brain has yet to be trained to accept. Though she retains my heart and my pussy both locked in an emotional vise, she makes it patent that I am under no circumstances to so much as think about setting the wheels of passion in motion between us. On the other, should she see fit to order me to the dungeon and engage me in a session of intimacy, any and all proverbial bets are on. And I am only far too pleased to obey. I would do anything for her. 

But by the same token, as she knows that solitary masturbation no longer holds present or future significance to me, she may also opt to deny and deprive me for days at a time, eventually reducing me to a pleading heap on my knees, orally pleasuring her feet while begging for her love. 

Oh, Mommy's bare feet...I am stymied to process the attraction or source thereof, but oh, such raw sexual devastation her mere feet wreak upon my libidinous soul. Those luscious soles...those sumptuous toes...those flawless arches... 

She commands me to stand so that she may cleanse my lower regions. My cunt shoots premature come like a water jet. 

I can stand it no longer. 

"Permission to become aroused, Mommy??" 

She tortures me by making me wait immeasurable spans for her reply. 

"Permission granted." 

I emit a squeal of delight and push myself to my feet, careful not to slip. Inevitably, a bit of water leaks over the edge of the tub. It is vastly to my advantage that spilling bathwater is nowhere to be found on Mommy's no-no list. When I have stood, I eagerly shake my hands half-dry and take a firm grip on the curtain rod. No sturdier shower rod has ever been installed. The first time Mommy bathed me, she picked me up and I gripped the rod. She released me, and nothing happened. 

Grasping desperately just to keep from injuring myself, my eyes roll back and I moan in the throes of passionate surrender. Mommy's soapy, mature, talented hands travel my contours, starting at my hips and working their way down. My aching pussy is already dying for attention that only Mommy can give. And she knows it. She saves my pussy for last. As agonizing as is always the prolonging, the end result is never less than worth its wait. 

She descends my outer thighs, one at a time, before gliding her adept, beautifully soap-caked fingers along my knee, calf and lower limb before reaching my ankle. "Paw," she whispers. 

I shift my weight and give Mommy my petite pedal paw. She lathers it up and down, in and between the toes, and I giggle lightly as the tickly sensation rides up inside me. My insides sparkle. Mommy knows this titillates me so, and so she slides one single nail up the sole before releasing my hind paw, prying out a giddy laugh. The lather and cleanse is repeated down my remaining leg. By this point I am clinging to the shower rod for dear life. My legs quiver as groaning whimpers escape. 

Please, Mommy, I begin whispering into the soapy air. Please, oh, please...I beg of you...I cannot bear to wait! 

Both legs clean, all ten toes blissfully tickled, Mommy finally begins massaging my inner thighs. My breaths rush forth in heavy, audible rasps. Tingles grace my trembling skin like the bubbles in the bath, with accelerating velocity that feel like fireworks as she nears my pussy. My clit is already readily erect for her. I worry not about harming myself. Mommy is infallible and omnipotent. If I fall, she will catch me. 

She fingers me delicately, as only Mommy Helen can. Her fingertips expertly caress the softly groomed skin bordering my labia. An entirely fresh coat of secretion seeps through my pussy. When she decides the moment is right, she seductively divides my labia and, to my delirious euphoria, digital penetration at last commences. 

The Earth's speed of rotation multiplies exponentially, and I am dizzied into a frenzy. 

"Yes, Mommy!" I implore, almost crying. "Please, Mommy! Deeper, Mommy, please, deeper!" 

"Patience, Delilah," I think I hear her serenely chide. 

The contents of my vocabulary vary between altered states of mind, and the word "patience" is currently foreign as they come. 

Somehow, I manage to wait Mommy out, and she indeed thrusts inside me deeper...and deeper...and deeper... 

I am intoxicated beyond all things tangible or thinkable. Just when it seems the intensity can build no higher... 

...I feel what only must be Mommy's tongue circumnavigate my swollen clit. 

I explode. Limitless. Depthless. Boundless. Too much can never be enough. I frantically beg for more. And more...and more. I am howling in heavenly pleasure. I am a tiny, 5'2" girl, not even a single one hundred pounds, and Mommy Helen is culling an eruption of inhuman roars from my bowels. 

I can only claim semi-awareness regarding details of the morning's events as we reach this point, and so, unable to say for sure, I believe I now hang suspended from the rod, all but defying gravity, hoisting both legs from the tub and clenching every joint I can find. I curl and scrunch my toes until they layer over one another. I think Mommy is helping me stay afloat by cradling me from beneath as she sucks, plunges and eats me. I am so beyond any and all limits of sanity by now, I could crash to the floor and be knocked into the happiest, most tranquil coma imaginable. 

Even so, I've nothing to worry about. Mommy shan't allow me to fall. 

By the time the world-rocking orgasm is through, I can barely remember my name, or what day it is. I can only speculate at this moment. Through my glassy eyes and my glassy mind, I gather a vague observation of Mommy letting me down from wherever I am, carrying me from the room, drying me, sitting me on our bed for the time being, brushing my hair, and granting me a short siesta before I awaken to see her sitting by my body, fondling my cheek. She kisses me. I remember where I am, and rise to the post-orgasm ritual of Mommy applying my velvet leash and hand- and footcuffs. I lower myself to all fours and she walks me out from the bedroom. 

*** 

October 11th, 4:45 p.m. 

My conditions are humane, especially by Mommy Helen's standards. I am no longer bound to ask permission to speak freely, but my sexual will remains under her ownership. I calculated one day, going by the ways in which she looks after me, that as her daughter, logically, she must really care for me after all. Her degrees of tenderness and devotion may be questionable, but now as my Mommy, she will not allow me to go without food or shelter. I am not permitted off premises without Mommy's supervision at all times, but I am allowed anywhere inside the house anytime I please. 

Occasionally, she will take me outside because she comprehends I simply need the fresh air, further evidence that she does actually love me. It is upon days like this I am to dress myself, and my garb is responsible, innocent and feminine. We hold hands together about our business, and I am not to wander out of her sight. Otherwise, I am kept in nature's own inside the house. Much of my time is occupied maintaining our home. Even as I have found that Mommy Helen is quite capable of nurturing me as the biological child she never had, she is not necessarily the type to visibly express affection. She will allow me to hug her, kiss her, lay my head in her lap and confide in her, and to say that I love her, but such is the extent of our shared affection. I often crave these forms of familial love to be reciprocated from Mommy, but I am to remind myself that she shows her love for me solely by no longer abusing me the way she used to as her slave. 

The line of distinction blurs. Mommy still toys with me and pleases my pussy, as well as cuffing me and walking me like the dog I am, but these are gestures that make me feel well-loved and taken care of by her. They remind me that Mommy still wants me for her own, and vice versa, and that we shan't part ways any day in the near future. She no longer, however, subjects me to unpleasant or harmful practices she once would, which genuinely hurt me and make me feel unsafe. Now that she has me under her own roof, necessity of punishing me for absence or tardiness is not even up to consideration. 

During most of the afternoons, Mommy departs for a number of hours, and while not performing tasks of cleanliness, I am to entertain myself. I began keeping a diary to pass the time and pen my thoughts. Aside from this I've spent many an interested hour exploring our home, particularly in the massive library, in which I've found countless friends in the innumerable tomes and stories offered. Come now to think of it, the library is a source of love from Mommy. When I shared with her how much this treasure chest of literature meant to me, she gradually brought me more and more books to nourish my comfort and help make me feel at home. I gratefully and enthusiastically continue to accept the gifts as they are presented, as if it is Christmas morning. 

Mommy's only rules for me vis-à-vis the library are as follows: I am permitted no more than one book at a time outside of it, no food goes near any books or the library, and I am to keep it tidy at all times and return the books to their respective shelves. There are more books than I could read in my lifetime if I spent my every waking moment in the library and read nonstop, but my zeal for new books never wanes. I was always fond of reading as a child, both mandatorily and for leisure, but bestowed with such a wealth of literature in my new adoptive home took my literary enjoyment and satisfaction to a new plane. 

Sometimes when Mommy goes away in the afternoons I wish she stayed with me so we could spend our time bonding in the library and reading to each other. I allow myself to speculate on where she goes and what she is doing, but it is a taboo subject to bring up to her. I would wonder now and again if she were to seek out another slave to adopt, but I banished that idea. I like and relish that Mommy is all mine, so to speak, and that I am all hers. I do not wish to "share" her, and the thought renders me sad. I enjoy feeling special in her life, and do not want to lose this feeling. 

After five months under her roof and exclusively in her care, I think I really feel happy here with Mommy. 

Today, on the 11th of October, at a quarter to 5:00 p.m., she returns home. I hear the door, and eagerly run to meet her like her puppy, which I also still consider myself. She always wanted a canine companion, as well as a daughter, and I serve both purposes (my initials coincidentally spelling the word "dog"). I am just a bit excited as always to see if she brought me any new books to read, but today I find I am in for quite the surprise. 

She enters. 

"Welcome home, Mommy!" I chirp, a smile on my face. "I missed you!" 

She regards me with her motherly eyes. "And I you, Delilah. Now then...there's someone I would like you to meet." 

..."Someone"? 

I cannot deny that my heart sinks a bit at hearing this. The secondary thought that comes to mind: We have company? Oh my goodness, I'm naked! Should I ask for permission to dress first? 

"Th—...there...is?" 

"Indeed." Mommy gestures to the still-open door, and I am met with a sight that stirs my reactions. 

Into our home comes what appears to be a young woman, somewhere in the neighborhood of my own age. Mommy blocks my view of most of her at first, but as she rounds her side to meet me for the first time... 

...My heart rises right back up into my chest, and swells...as the world as I know it stops...and time stands stock-still. 

Standing before me...is the most lovely...beautiful...comely...stunning young lass I have ever seen in all my life. 




Redefining Punishment... Again



I have never before to this point in my life believed in love at first sight. To be frank, the concept always struck my friends and me as a bit...inane, really. But...being blessed with a visit to our home by this mesmerizingly striking goddess, her approach bringing us face to gorgeous face..."inane" is the single last word I would choose. 

She is a bit taller than I—somewhere in the vicinity of 5'5"—brunette, with glittering green eyes and the sort of "come hither" features to which I am only vaguely accustomed. Her blouse is peasant ruffle, soft pale yellow, and reminiscent of the Renaissance era. On her feet are knee-high stockings and patent buckle low platforms. She seems to gaze directly back into my eyes and even into my very soul with neither a hint of artifice nor pretense. 

Any hints of worry in possibly no longer having Mommy's affection and attention all to myself have already long since evaporated. My eyes go dewy right before this fair maiden's. I want to melt into her arms. I want to take her for my own and never ever let go. I want to drown in the majestic pulchritude of this wondrous creature whom I have never before met. 

I want to hug Mommy tightly and gush, "Oh, Mommy! For me?! You shouldn't have! How did you know?! Is it my birthday??" 

The possibility that Mommy has brought home this vixen for any other cause than me bypasses my cognizance completely. 

Eyes adhered fast to the vision of perfection that stands in front of me, four tiny words bounce off my sensate brain— 

I, am, in, love. 

My normally sensible mind, which thinks it knows better, tries pointlessly to convince my heart otherwise. That I cannot logically be in love with this girl, for I have never met her before now. I know nothing about her. But when rational thinking is stacked to matters of the heart, no candles are held. Emotion wins every time. 

Mommy says some words that echo distortedly in my ears. I realize that I have been staring agape at this living wonder of the world for what is probably between thirty and forty-five seconds without moving, speaking or breathing. 

I blink a dozen times, stuttering for words. 

"Um...I...oh, gosh...th—d—I...uh..." 

Mommy and our visitor are (probably) regarding me a bit oddly just about now. 

"Delilah, are you quite all right?" I hear Mommy's voice ask. 

Am I all right?...Is "drop-dead heels-over-head in love" anywhere comparable to all right? 

I turn to her. "Oh, um...yes! Yes, Mommy, I'm..." 

I steady myself to keep from swooning and try to hinder my heart fluttering away. 

"...I'm good. Just good. I just, eh...didn't hear what you were saying." 

"I was saying, Delilah, dear, I would like you to meet Cathryn..." 

Cathryn...what a beautiful name. I summon the courage to do something completely natural and appropriate, and reach to shake her hand, and perhaps parlay this handshake into a welcome hug. 

"...Your new sister." 

Our hands make contact as these final words register. 

"...My...sister?" 

"That's right. I feel things have been getting on quite well lately, but it also occurred to me that you may be a bit lonely. So I thought perhaps you might like a playmate." 

Oh...I do like her, Mommy. I can tell already, I like her very, very much. 

"Well...thank you, Mommy. It's...it's very lovely to meet you...Cathryn." 

I coat the sound of her name in an exhalation of dazed overfriendliness. She smiles at me. 

"The pleasure is mine, Miss Delilah," she coos, in a rich, silky British accent. 

Just when I thought she could be no more bewitching. 

This time I cannot stop my heart. I refuse to hold back. I take her in an embrace and hug her aggressively snugly. 

"Oh, my!" I hear her giggle at my squeeze. 

I look appreciatively to Mommy and mouth an extremely grateful, "THANK YOU SO MUCH!!" 

It goes without saying I don't want to let go of this lovely English muffin for so much as a second, but only to me, myself and I. Mommy and my new "sister" Cathryn are oblivious to the way I am feeling...most likely. I had likely better release her before they begin wondering what is going on. I reluctantly but cordially do so. 

I realize for the first time that Cathryn appears not fazed in the least by the sight of her new sister in her birthday suit and shackles. All I can compute is that Mommy must have explained this to her beforehand. 

Speaking of Mommy, Mommy is speaking. 

"Indeed," she finishes. "Delilah Olivia Gainey...Cathryn Athena Taylor." 

Cathryn...Athena...Taylor... 

...C.A.T.? 

Aha. I understand. 

Canis domesticus, meet felis domesticus. The puppy is joined by the kitten. Mommy's two sibling pets. 

"Welcome to our home!" I greet. "We're so happy to have you here!" 

"Well, how jolly lovely!" she returns. The irresistible smile does not leave her face. I decide she is exercising effort to present herself affable and polite, unaware how her statuesque finesse already haunts and enchants me so. Describing her as beguiling merely aspires to understatement. She turns to share her smile with Mommy, and I am privileged next to behold the side view of her face, its sleek curves and masterful sculpture. Oh, and that exotic European goddessship so many of our American lasses like myself are not quite as blessed with. I cannot help but wonder what sort of first impression if any I make upon her. 

"Well, uh...oh! Mommy, may I see Cathryn around?" 

"Of course, Delilah. You two run along." 

YES! 

Mommy withdraws to begin supper. I take Cathryn's hand and fight away the urge to kiss her breathless. 

*** 

October 11th, 6:04 p.m. 

Holding hands with Cathryn makes me feel like I am walking on air. I escort her from room to room, showing her about, taking my time, never wanting this to end. I save the library for last. 

"And this..." I introduce, pausing for effect. "...Is my favorite room. Our 'biblio-mecca.'" 

"Ooh, how exciting!" says Cathryn. "Shall I close me eyes first?" 

Only if you want me to catch you unawares with a passionate kiss. 

"Sure," I smile. 

She obliges. As soon as her eyelids shut, I lose no time in mouthing the words, "I love you," to her. I'm half-aware how quickly my heart is moving. I cannot help it; I'm a born romantic. But I'm also half-aware there are factors here I am overlooking. I ask my brain to please not remind me that I don't yet even know if she likes girls. 

However, if Mommy asked her to come home with her, and she said yes, I like my chances. 

I take her by the hands and begin leading her in, pushing the door the rest of the way open with my tush. When I flip the lights to make my grand unveiling, Cathryn opens her eyes, and is visibly impressed, even before she speaks any words. I am so very pleased that she approves. We begin traversing the rows and rows of shelving. I tell Cathryn about all the wonders I've unearthed inside these four vast walls, about how the books are arranged randomly so you never know what you will find to read next, about how even though I have already read so many, new hidden treasures always pop up to my delight, about what a cozy, comfortable atmosphere is offered inside. She looks truly enchanted. My heart is brimming. 

"Go ahead, have a look around," I gesture. 

She heads off slowly in an aimless direction, studying shelves and spines. I saunter to the other side of her row. Most shelves like this are backless. I create this opportunity for myself to place one foot in the door of flirtation and test Cathryn's tempting waters. I hold off for a couple of minutes, letting her peacefully browse, and make my approach as quietly and discreetly as possible with the disadvantage of the rattling chains connecting my wrists and ankles. 

I wander a few steps past where she stands on the other side. The soft echo of my bare feet padding on the floor lingers, then dissipates. I am certain Cathryn is unsuspecting of what little games I am up to. I lean on my side of the shelf, peering through, admiring my sister's radiant excellence. When she parallels and slouches her 5'5" frame to the level of my own, I flash the most unassuming smile I can manage and cast her a playful wave. 

"Peekaboo," I coyly purr. 

She returns my impish smirk and waves back. "'Tis you I see," she coos, switching up the given wordage with a uniqueness bearing such powerful charm that I must grip the bookcase to keep from fainting. Before she sees, I withdraw to the seclusion of the large-print books and fan myself. 

I love her. I do. I am enamored beyond doubt of this all but superhuman queen, and I cannot look back. I marvel at the comparison of my restrained, naked state, to her conversely clothed and liberated magnificence. It is lost not upon me that if she so desired, she could overpower and force her way with me, and the thought inundates my body with unspoken pleasure. Arousal flushes through me, and I pray she does not notice. My nipples have awoken and my pussy has moistened just a bit, and the slightest traces of perspiration generate through my pores. 

Oh dear, oh dear...what to do now? Civilized manners prohibit me from leaving her be in the library just to go and relieve myself, and aside from the numerous reasons I cannot simply approach and thrust myself upon her, such reckless behavior would indubitably sit quite ill with Mommy. Priorly unauthorized acts of intimacy are not condoned in her home. 

Suddenly, I am struck by an idea. Cathryn has only just met me a short time ago. We do not know one another, and I formulate a scheme how to keep the situation safe. I will pretend to come on strong to her. This is dangerous, but more likely than not, she will become intimidated by my aggression, cool off and back down. 

I pad back to my sister princess, who is browsing more shelves. I control my breathing, approach her and smooth the back of my hand over her satiny soft cheek. 

"Cathryn...sweetheart?" I raspily murmur. 

She turns to smile at me. Seizing the upper hand, she returns the gesture, caressing me. 

"Yes, Delilah...dahling?" 

This is not the reaction I have anticipated. My heart begins to pound wildly. 

New plan. NEW PLAN. 

Thinking quickly, I come to the conclusion that I must breathe deeply, regard the fair Cathryn as my real family member, and keep the atmosphere as chaste as can be. I inhale through the nose, trying to conjure the least arousing entity possible to mind. 

But this doesn't mean I can't discuss pleasant subjects. 

I unhand her and turn to the books. 

"...You know, Cathryn...it was my dearly departed grandfather who fostered my love of reading." 

"Oh, why, how sweet," she comments. "I had a similar relationship with me Grammy." 

"Aw, yes, aren't grandparents great? So what'd your Grammy read to you, for instance?" 

Cathryn sighs nostalgically, turning from the bookcase with a flourish. 

"Lady Chatterley's Lover." 

Oh, dear. 

"...R—...really?...I-I...I had no... 

"...Really?" 

"Oh, yes," she nods. "It taught me such wonderful things." 

She mischievously plays with a loose strand of my hair hanging at my cheek. I realize that my new plan too has backfired. I am in trouble, for it seems she has melted into an almost irrevocably romantic mood. I must do something. I can almost feel my pussy dampening. This is bad. Forcing my brain to override it, I change the subject and put on a sad face. 

"However, I only had my grandfather for a short time, and my folks passed when I was two." 

Cathryn's face fills with sympathetic affection. 

"Oh, I'm so very sorry!" she commiserates. "I know how difficult it is to lose those closest to you." 

"It really is," I quickly nod. I hate myself for using the demise of my loved ones to manipulate the situation, but it has been done out of desperation. "I miss them terribly to this day." 

"Of course!" Cathryn agrees. "Any person with such a wealth of love in her heart—as I can plainly see you do—would, Delilah." 

I calculate that Cathryn, like myself, was orphaned as a child. I have volunteered my own information to her, but to ask her the same would be impolite. I shall presume so until I know for certain or not. I think we are safe for the moment. "Yes, so I lived in foster homes until I was old enough to look after myself," I go on. "Then one day...Mommy adopted me." 

We converse further, which leads to my selecting favorite books and reading passages to Cathryn from them. She is charmed. She chooses one book and another at random, and reads to me. I am fascinated with the heart and emotion into which she pours the narration. Just as with meeting me for the first time, she scans her eyes over configurations of words and language she never before seen has, and yet ostensibly encounters no hindrance in deciphering their profundity. 

I am dazzled. 

I tell her the truth. 

"I like you, Cathryn. I enjoy you much, and your presence and company as well." 

A beatific smile for which I could die graces her smashing face. 

"I do believe I'm quite partial to you as well, Miss Delilah." 

We lay our books to rest and allow our silly smiles to do the speaking for us. The echo-heavy library silences. We peer into one another's inviting eyes. I have no foolproof method to know if she feels the same as I, or even close. My heart's longings and desires swell and reinforce, until they soon enough begin to overwhelm my consequential thinking. I know this is trouble, but I start to realize I am any longer powerless to block it. 

Cathryn...my angel... I try to communicate in my yearning, hopeful countenance, ...Do you feel the same...? 

Before I detect any conclusive signals, we hear Mommy's voice. 

"Supper!" 

Whew. 

A merciful reprieve. 

*** 

October 11th, 8:44 p.m. 

We dine by dim chandelier and candlelight. Mommy prefers to set ambient moods such as this for special occasions. I have gotten accustomed to eating together only with her, but now with Cathryn at the table with us, I must admit I feel a bit funny perching here as the lone shackled nude. I am still however highly enjoying myself nonetheless. 

"Mmmm...your culinary skills are simply splendid, Mum!" Cathryn gushes. 

"We're so pleased you like it," I gush back. 

"Indeed, young Cathryn," Mommy addresses her. "I shall take extra care to prepare your favorite dishes in the future." 

We go on eating, exchanging pleasant conversation along the way. I mentally thank goodness neither Mommy nor Cathryn knows what I am thinking just now. Dozens of questions—with varying degrees of tact—buzz through my head. I can phrase what I would like to ask, but I would much rather know first how they would react. I play best- and worst-case scenarios of these scripted conversations in my mind. 

"You're being uncharacteristically quiet this evening, Delilah," Mommy remarks. 

"Oh, I-I...I don't want to monopolize the conversation, Mommy; this is Cathryn's special day." 

I cannot express to Mommy how thankful I am for my new sister. At the same time, I am terrified that I may allow my hormones to impede my good behavior without Mommy's permission. I try to theoretically negotiate how I may ask permission without stepping into an awkward situation with my "prinsis" herself. 

Perhaps she shall turn in to bed earlier than we this evening, and I then may present my request. 

I cross my legs under the table and rub my thighs together to give my pussy a bit of relief. It's a lucky thing for me they cannot see me doing so. Even though we are nearly finished, pausing dinner with a merry, "Cathryn, Mommy, may I please be excused so that I can finger myself to orgasm and set my libido back in check?" seems an excellent way to dampen the festivities. 

At last, supper is over. I rise with Mommy to collect the dishes. 

"Oh, I'll help," Cathryn offers, standing with us. 

She's perfect. The CAT-woman is purrrrfect. 

And an angel. 

She's a purrrrfect, pussy-cat, angel. 

*** 

October 11th, 11:58 p.m. 

The dishes have been put away. We have spent the remainder of our evening sitting on the balcony, sipping cocoa, watching the stars. Mommy sits between us, each of us holding on to one of her arms, resting our heads on her shoulders. I may dare say this could be the most wonderful day and night of my life...or the most nerve-wracking. 

It must just be a couple minutes to midnight when Mommy announces it is time for bed. 

"All right, young ladies," she says, escorting us inside. "Wash up, then into the sheets with you." 

Mommy slips Cathryn into a pair of silk pajamas. She then unshackles me and puts me to bed first. 

"Now, you behave yourself, and Mommy will be right back, just after she reads Cathryn a nice bedtime story." 

She takes her into one of the spare bedrooms, and a couple minutes later I hear a faint murmuring. A brief while later, true to her word, Mommy returns to me. 

"Now then, little Delilah...would you like a bedtime story tonight?" 

"Oh, thank you, Mommy, but I'm afraid I would fall asleep halfway through," I politely decline. 

"Very well." Mommy puts out the light, lays the book away and another moment later I feel her crawl into bed with me. She slips her arms around me, kisses my forehead, whispers, "Sweet dreams, daughter," and our evening is concluded. 

But our twilight is not quite. 

*** 

October 12th, 2:41 a.m. 

I am stirred to consciousness. Something shakes our bodies. 

"Delilah! Mum!" a voice whispers. "Delilah!" 

We awaken. 

"Cathryn?" I mutter. 

Mommy flicks on the bedside lamp. 

"What is it, dear?" she asks. 

I shut my eyes and squint until they adjust. Cathryn looks to have been crying. 

"I had a terrible nightmare," she tells us. "I don't want to sleep alone. May I, please?" 

"Oh, of course, of course, Cathryn," Mommy agrees, as we inch ourselves over to give Cathryn some room. "Come on then." 

Cathryn settles in beside us and we snuggle her to consolation. I kiss her cheek. 

"Sweet dreams, sister," I wish her. "We love you." 

*** 

October 12th, 8:56 a.m. 

I blink myself awake to see and feel that the cartilage of my nose is smushed against my sister's. It feels funny and wonderful. I smile as I remember how she crawled into bed last night with me and... 

...Mommy? 

I feel for her body. She must already be up. I softly blink, tickling Cathryn's eyelids with my lashes. 

So impossibly pretty. 

I must still be only half-awake. 

Because what I am about to do next feels completely pure, natural, sweet and right. 

I kiss her. On the mouth. Soft and passionate. The sort of a kiss that can be stolen exactly once in a lifetime. 

I am uncertain whether it's due to unconscious desire, conscious desire, or any number of other circumstances, but Cathryn kisses me back. Our arms find their ways around each other. My body warms to her touch. I am kissing her, and she me! I cannot believe it. This is the happiest moment to date of my half-conscious life. 

We cannot cease. In a timespan even so brief as fifteen short hours, the passionate yearning between us has become too great. Soft moans emanate as we breathe through our flaring nostrils. Her warm hands on my back feel so exquisite, fingers dancing lightly over the bumps of my vertebrae. Need for ample oxygen finally detaches our lips like suction cups. 




Redefining Punishment... Again



Hot breezes brush our faces as we exhale. That which I say next surprises me as much as Cathryn. 

"I love you, Cathryn! I've loved you since I first laid eyes on you, only...yesterday!" 

Her eyes twinkle, almost moist. 

"You're the most lovely, beautiful, comely, stunning young lass I have ever seen in all my life!" 

"Any beauty of mine cannot begin to compare to your own, me dahling!" 

I cannot contain my joy. I squeeze Cathryn so tightly she almost pops. "I adore you, angel!" I cry. 

Her fingers ride through my mane. "Me dreams have come true since I met you, princess!" 

"This is a true fairy-tale! Love at first sight! Oh, this was all I could think about with you yesterday, Cathryn Taylor!" 

"I knew something magical drew me here! Oh, Delilah Gainey, you're everything Mum told me you were and more!" 

"Mum...yes..." 

...Mum? 

Mommy?? 

I gasp. "Oh, no!" I lament. "We can't! Cathryn, we cannot do this! Mommy won't allow it!" 

The disappointment reads clear in her face. 

"But...but, I'm-I'm sure if we ask her for permission, she will!" I hopefully amend. 

"Oh, I do hope so!" says my sister. She places one hand on my cheek and the other on my breast. "I just crave you so, Delilah!" 

Cathryn bats her eyes at me. 

...Her little innocent cat-like eyes... 

...Like the little innocent kitty-cat she is... 

...I cannot, resist, those eyes. 

I settle back down into the bed with her. 

"Well, maybe we'll just ask a little later," I sigh dreamily, slipping my hands under her jammie top. 

She giggles. "Oooh, that tickles, Delilah!" She pecks my cheek. "I like it." 

I fondle her belly, up to her waiting, shapely, curvaceous breasts, which I can tell are beautifully perky without even having to see them. I shan't be taken wrong, however; I most certainly do want to see them. 

I stop just before, nuzzling her nose. 

"May I?" 

She beams with longing. 

"How I do wish you would." 

I grin, eyes glued to her face, smoothing my thumbs over her nipples. My jubilation is multiplied tenfold as I watch her face wince into a mask of relinquent pleasure. Her head cranes back, accentuating her swan-like neck. My smile spreads ear to ear. 

My touch is magic. 

She likes me. 

I take her in anew. Her rich, full, thick brunette locks, her gentle, unassuming feline-like baby greens, her soft, straight-edged adorable nose, her expressive, smile-framing, blushy cheeks, her pink, almost fuchsia, velvety lips, her flawless complexion—which could lure anyone into thinking she's wearing makeup when she is not—her sumptuous curves, her brilliant lines, her... 

...Her Promised Land. The upper peninsula. The majestic valley betwixt her luxurious orbs. 

Up goes her pajama top. 

And there they lie. Modest-sized but amply pleasing, dancing with jiggles at the slightest touch, just for me. 

I begin by kissing them. Softly, tenderly, gingerly. My lips leave the most delicate graces upon her heaving flesh. So supple, so proud, so elegant, so grand, so... 

She gropes me. 

"Ohhh!" I groan. "Oh, sweetheart..." 

"Baby..." I hear her coo to me. 

Dare I adjourn to the lower peninsula of your precious Promised Land? 

Cathryn whips off her pajama top for me and begins to do the same with her bottoms. 

Oh, my Goddess...yes, yes, please... 

I am seconds away from bringing my trembling hand to rest on my dear sister, Cathryn Athena Taylor's... 

...Waiting...yearning...dampening...oh, I am so close! Oh, I can taste it! Her... 

Her... 

"AND JUST WHAT IN THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU ARE DOING?!" 

My heart stops. 

Our eyes fill with horror. 

Mommy. 

We freeze in action, knowing we have been caught. 

Oh, have we been caught. 

*** 

October 12th, 11:03 a.m. 

Our proverbial geese are cooked. 

We have been forced down into the dungeon. Our hearts are pounding like wildfire. I have been bolted to the far wall in the corner, in the same spot where Mommy fixed me to stay on Mother's Day, after she punished me the first time for my tardy arrival, and subsequently adopted me. I am shackled and facing the center of the room, trying best I can to hold my eyes closed, so that I mustn't behold the terrifying sight awaiting me. 

My forbidden angel has been suspended by her ankles—again, just as I had been in May—frightened from her poor mind. Mere words cannot begin to describe the magnitude of my shame. I have allowed my infernal hormones to interfere with the harmony of our happy household, and now...I have made the ultimate sacrifice. I have led her directly into this imprisonment. It could be no less Cathryn's doing. I committed the breach, and now the love of my fairy-tale life... 

...Is about the pay the price for it. 

Herself. 

Cathryn will soon be run through with the quite literal heat and hell with which I am only too familiar. 

I am silently weeping before Mommy even arrives in the dungeon. 

How could I have allowed this to happen??! 

It is simple, really; I am a bad girl. 

A very bad girl. 

It seems evident I have failed to learn my lesson. 

"I am so, so sorry, Cathryn, I am so, so very sorry," I repeat again and again. "This is my fault. Completely, my fault." 

I've not the first what Cathryn is, may or would be saying were she able to speak to me. I shan't blame her if she doesn't again. I have betrayed her, beyond all known reaches of sin. 

I am certain most of the blood has left her feet by now. One part of me wants Mommy to come down here and just have done with this so that we may cry, bleed, ache and perhaps one day heal. The other part of me wishes she would never rejoin us and we could be blessed with the privilege of starving to death instead. 

Alas, we do at last hear the sharp clap! clap! clap! of Mommy's heeled boots growing louder and closer as she nears to make us wish we were never born. She takes her time, prolonging the already unbearable torment. 

I hear a swishing sound accompanying the boot clacking. I open my eyes, and immediately regret doing so. Mommy is holding and brandishing about her infamous cat-o'-nine-tails, with which she too has traumatized me as well, whipping it in an ominous figure eight pattern. My poor pussy smarts just remembering the sound with which the horrific device threatens. 

She glares back and forth between us. Finally, she speaks. 

"Now, then...I believe that I have adequately devised just such a punishment, to fit the severity of your crime, young ladies..." 

This is too much. I reflexively try to throw out what I already know is a futile but necessary plea. 

"Mommy, please! Please, don't punish Cathryn! It was all my doing! Honestly! I coerced her! It was I who seduced her, and she innocently succumbed to me! If anything, punish me, twice as severely! Please, Mommy, PLEASE! PLEASE let her go!!" 

She turns to the nearest wall and in one sharp, fluid gesture cracks the cat-o'-nine-tails against it. We gasp as the reverbing echo crashes around the room, like a vicious thunderstrike. 

"SILENCE!" 

We obey. 

Mommy smooths out the nine tails and paces around us, in slow, daunting strides. 

"As I own and exercise full power of authority inside this home...Cathryn...Delilah...your collective fate lies in my hands. And as is well within my rights, as your adopted guardian...administration and distribution of said punishment remains my, and only my decision, to make. 

"...And my will...shall be done. 

"NOW...as I was saying...you, Delilah, will go into the adjoining boiler room and shall be shut inside until such time as business between our Miss Cathryn Taylor and myself is concluded." 

I am not sure I quite understand. The...boiler room? But...why? 

"Um...per-permission to speak freel—" 

"Permission denied." She marches on me and detaches me from my corner. She points to the floor. I lower myself on hand and knee, and she walks me into the boiler room. Once inside, she shuts the door from the exterior and slides the lock into place with a solitary click. I spring to my feet, pad back to the door on tippy-toe to attempt reducing the echo, and cautiously try the knob. Indeed, it is secured. 

Panic-stricken, I try to think rational thoughts, and to arrange them in an order that makes some sense. I am petrified of what is to follow, and yet, my curiosity also holds a hand in the given situation. Why has Mommy banished me inside here? 

My first consideration to mind is illogical. The echo from the dungeon does carry into the boiler room, I know this, and so Mommy has organized such a castigation whereby I shall...hear Cathryn's suffering torment, but not see it? It would seem to me that in order to effectively in turn torture me, she should surely force me to view the ensuing horror show, taking it all in with my own eyes, a blend of images and sounds that would forever haunt my senses and wreak havoc on my mental peace. 

On the other hand, I next process, leaving it all wholly and unanimously up to my imagination to conjure, by a token, could be argued as a severer abuse, I suppose. Mommy and I are both fully well aware that I know of just what she is capable, both via proxy, and first-hand experience. If fed code decipherable only by the auditory organs... 

...The mind indeed may just terrorize itself, a dozen times over, able to merely speculate nature of the mayhem. 

Oh, dear me...oh, this is not fun to think about. 

So this might yet prove more excruciating, more inexorable, more tempestuous a method. I must remind myself that Mommy is omniscient, and knows always what she does. She— 

Just a moment...what is happening? 

My thoughts are interrupted by the semi-faint sound of Mommy's voice on the other side of the cement wall. 

Oh...I know I am going to regret this, still...I press my ear to the bricks. 

"You've disappointed me, Cathryn." 

OH, NO. Oh, no, Mommy, not "disappointed!" I know what that means! 

"Worse yet, you have deceived me. 

"You have demonstrated a grave infraction of your owner and guardian's personal instruction and design, under her own shelter and property. Are you aware...of what this means?" 

Yes! Say yes! SAY YES, Cathryn! 

She whimpers. I barely make out her timid response. 

"I...I do not, Mum." 

Oh, hell. 

For a few more moments I hear nothing save for Mommy's footsteps. I am uncertain where she is, or which way she is taking. 

It comes before I can even begin to anticipate. 

SNAP!! 

"AAAAAOOOWWW!!" Cathryn cries out in a bloodcurdling shriek. 

I believe her exclamation is followed up by a bawling, "NO, MUM, PLEASE!" but I have been sliced through the heart by the first far too blindingly to distinguish anything more. I collapse to my knees. 

"NOOOOOO!!" I roar, fruitlessly slamming my clenched fists against the boiler room wall. I break down and cry along. 

WHACK!! 

"OOOOOOWWWW!! PLE-E-E-EASE, MUMMY-Y-Y-Y!" 

My own screams harmonize with my sister's, almost somehow euphoniously. I wing my head back and forth, flinging paw and palm against the door and walls. I am sealed, and I know it. But I do not process it. Cathryn's wracking sobs continue to penetrate and cut me deeper and deeper, slashing my heart, mind and soul to lonesome shreds. 

"Perhaps NEXT time you'll think TWICE before causing poor Mummy such GRIEF! Hmmm??!" 

Another snap of the weapon. Such bestial, primal screams have I never heard before. I die inside. I suffer for her. 

"SPEAK, slave!!" SLAP!! 

"AAAAAAAAAAHHH!! YES, MUMMY-Y-Y!" 

"InDEED! And won't poor little Delilah be heartbroken to find that you cannot use THIS for months at a time!" WHAPP!! 

Another agonized screech. Oh, I can take no more. I despise myself for doing so—feeling as if I am abandoning her in some way—but I jam my fingers in my ears and seek cover behind the water heater. 

Oh, it is hot inside. It is so hot I am dripping with sweat, in my own bared flesh, especially behind the heater, but its comforting, loud hum shields me from the aural horror oozing through the walls. I must keep my ears plugged simultaneously, but at last, try as I might, I can hear no more. 

I feel selfish, but there is nothing I can do. I cannot break through to throw myself into the path of the brutal cat-o'-nine-tails, nor can I rewind time to erase this dreadful act from history. 

All I can do is...wait it out. 

Wait... 

...And cry. 

*** 

October 12th, 2:02 p.m. 

As expected, Mommy knew what she was doing to me all along. Her method of torture was direct and merciless, compounded by a despicable ultimatum: burn up a bit by the wall listening to Cathryn's painful whipping...or take refuge behind the water heater, unable to hear the terror, but hence burn up all but to the point of suffocation. 

Streams of solution mixing tears and sweat pour from my head. Just about by the point I am ready to surrender my sanity— 

Click! Snap! Creeeeeeeaaak... 

I exercise discretion, slowly removing my index fingers and looking up. 

The door is open. 

Part of me does not even wish to leave. After simply hearing what poor, poor Cathryn has been subjected to, this doomful portion of my will wishes to just stay here and sear, perspiring and burning away until I literally melt to death. I am shattered. The love of my life has been assaulted, nay, annihilated by our evil, horrible Mommy... 

...No. 

Not Mommy. 

Mistress Helen. This woman could not be my Mommy. I was mistaken all along. I had allowed myself to be lured in by her charms and believe that she really did love me. She did not. She cared nothing for me. Ever. 

I just feel so betrayed, and so destroyed, on a dozen different levels. 

"Oh, Delilah, dear?" she calls. "Time to come out!" 

I care no longer what she may say or do to me. I need to look her in the eyes and say one thing to her, right now. 

I emerge from behind the water heater, pawing traces of sweat and teardrops from my eyes, trying to focus. I'm dizzy, disoriented, and I have a terrible pounding headache. But I am determined to say this one single thing. 

As I near the door, shuffling along in my shackles—I have become so used to them, I hardly even notice they are there anymore—Mom—Mistress Helen's figure floats into my sight line. I narrow my eyes into hostile, piercing slits. 

I muster my courage, and finally push the words out. 

"You are a horrible person. 

"I detest you. 

"You are not my Mommy. 

"You are a sadistic...tyrannical...vindictive...psychotic BEAST. 

"I never wish to see you again. 

"I would sooner kill myself than ever forgive you." 

She waits until I am finished, and sighs, clapping off her hands. 

"Such is life," she philosophizes. "Alas, young Delilah...not all wishes can be granted. 

"Yet..." She leaves my scope of vision. 

How dare you walk away from me! I think furiously, marching and metallically rattling after her. 

Her voice continues. 

"Yet, if you believe... 

"If you truly believe, just intently enough...just hard enough, dear Delilah..." 

I stamp back outside, in angry pad-pad-pads, to where she and Cathryn await. 

"...Tragedies of today... 

"...Can reveal themselves to be but mere incidents of yesterday." 

I stop in my tracks, dumbstruck by what I see. 

Cathryn Athena Taylor stands before me...in an ostensible total of no agony whatsoever... 

...Wearing a soft pale yellow Renaissance peasant blouse...knee-high stockings...and patent buckle low platforms. 

What on Earth...? 

"Delilah Olivia Gainey... 

"...I'd like you to meet Cathryn Athena Taylor." 

I am positively confounded. 

"Wh—...WHAT?! What in the hell is going on?!" I demand to know, half a mind to repeat the ferocious question she barked at us in the bedroom, scaring the very daylights from us. 

"It's really quite simple, my dear little waif. You see, my young apprentice Cathryn is a talented, locally theatrical actress." 

She pauses before going on. Registering this random piece of information, I cannot define what I am feeling just now, but I do not believe it a peaceful, easy, happy thought. 

"And once I had seen for myself just how marvelous she was, I decided to...sort of adopt her." 

My eyes narrow, darting back and forth at them. 

"What do you mean, 'sort of'?" 

"Why, much rather in the same way that I adopted you, my pet," smiles Mistress Helen calmly. "With, you might say, something of a twist added. Knowledge in much that Cathryn is a skilled actress, as well as the fact that she too dwells alone, I elected to bring her home with me, to meet you. You see, Delilah, I knew that you would fall helplessly in love with her." 

"W-what?? How could you know that??" 

She laughs. "Why, Delilah, have so soon you forgotten? Mommy Helen knows everything." She advances a few paces on me. 

"I know you better than you know yourself." 

Cathryn jumps into the story, narrating, to my utter astonishment, now with no British accent whatsoever. 

"Right, Delilah. So then, Mistress Helen says to me, why don't we h—" 

My hands go up. "WHOA! Whoa, wait a minute here! 

"You're not British??!" 

She grins at me. "Pretty good, huh? Had you fooled!" 

As this diabolical story continues, I begin to feel my blood boil just a tiny bit. 

Cathryn goes on. "So she says, 'I know Delilah will just go wild for you, so why don't you pretend like you have the exact same feeling when you first see her?'" 

My heart liquefies, and splatters my insides. 

"...What?" 

Mistress Helen takes over. "Yes. Then we decided further, Delilah knows that I do not permit unauthorized acts of an intimate nature in my home, so why don't you seduce her along a bit, let her do the rest, and then let me catch you in the act?" 

... 

"...WHAT??!" 

"That's right," says Cathryn. They are both being totally matter-of-fact with their replies to me, as if this is no big deal at all! "Which of course then led into our final act here." 

"That it did," adds Mistress Helen. She retrieves the cat-o'-nine-tails, demonstratively rears back, snaps her wrist and lets loose with a sickening CRASH!... 

...On the floor, to my downright shock. 

At the sound, Cathryn lets out what I now can incredulously deduce is an artificial thespian cry, for my edification— 

"AAAAAAAAAAOOOOWWWW! PLEASE, MUMMY, NO!!" 

"Sound familiar?" asks Mistress Helen. 

As the puzzle is finally put together for me, I find myself abruptly...seeing red. 

Lots...of red. 

"You mean... 

"...That you tricked me??! This was all just a hoax?! A-a-a...a performance, for God's sake??!" 

"Brilliantly worked out, young Delilah!" congratulates Mistress Helen. "Take a bow, Cathryn!" 

They do. They bow, right the hell in front of me. Suddenly, my blood is boiling so furiously I can practically hear it. 




Redefining Punishment... Again



"This was all lies?! The-the interest in the library, the nightmare, the...everything??" 

They nod. "All part of the plan," admits Cathryn. 

My breathing hastens. My hands clench into irate fists. My ears feel red-hot, as if steam is pluming from them. 

Once again...I cannot, goddamned, believe it. They were both lunatics. They were both sadistic tricksters! They had faked this whole elaborate scheme—toying with my emotions, making me believe I had found the love of a lifetime, sending my heart through a rollercoaster, scaring the living hell out of me, tearing my soul to billions of pieces, cooking up my brain into spaghetti at a hundred degrees...for NOTHING??! For a prank?! A practical joke?! 

"...THIS WAS A PRACTICAL GODDAMNED JOKE??!" 

They wait a moment, then nod, again, without a hint of emotion whatsoever. 

"Well...essentially...yes, Delilah," confirms Mistress Helen. 

Cathryn elbows her. With a snicker. A SNICKER. 

"Think we, uh...might've taken it a little too far?" 

Something inside me snaps. Being more than half a foot taller than I, I might not be able to take Mistress Helen, but this little devil shall feel my wrath. I rush Cathryn, as fast and suddenly as I can in my footcuffs. 

"I WILL KILL YOU!" I declare. Unfortunately for my rage, she has nothing to worry about, for I cannot outrun Mistress Helen. She seizes me around the middle in my tracks, slips around to behind me, and lifts my teeny-tiny angry little ninety-six-pound body from the floor. I kick and elbow at her. 

"Now, now," says Mistress Helen. "Temper, temper!" 

"Let me go!" I demand. "Let the hell go of me so I can murder her! Twice! I hate you! I hate the both of you!" 

"Now you know you do not really mean that, Delilah," comes the voice behind me. 

"The hell I do not!" I contradict. "I meant what I said! You're horrible, rotten beasts, and I don't ever want to see you again! You broke my heart!" I burst out in tears at the pure truth of my statement. "YOU BROKE MY HEART! YOU BROKE MY H—..." 

My energy gives out. This whirlwind of a day has thoroughly taken its toll on me, and though I do not realize it at the time, it's only 3:00 in the afternoon. I stop fighting Mistress Helen and let my arms fall limp at my sides, letting it all out. My pounding head is killing me, but my wounded emotions rule my brain right now. I guess they see I have given in, because Mistress lowers me back to the floor. Cathryn starts to hug me. 

"Okay...okay," she says, in a tranquil voice. "Look, Delilah, we're sorr—" 

I slap her hands away. "Don't touch me." 

I slink to the wall and lean against it, letting my head sag and droop, trying to shut my eyes just for a bit of relief. I hear Cathryn approaching once more. She strokes my hair. 

"Oh, Delilah, we didn't mean to hurt you. We jus—" 

This time I am more aggressive. I swing around and whip her hand from my body. 

"Don't you dare touch me, you phony! Don't you talk to me, and don't you touch me! You fake...you-you fake actress! You don't know what you did, do you?! You trifled with my emotions—for a damn game! For FUN! I..." 

I sigh and turn around, trying to cross my arms. 

"I thought I loved you! And I thought you loved me! Can I—can I just—let me just explain something to you, Cathryn—if that IS your real name—I happen to have a particularly fragile heart. It's not okay to mess around with anyone's heart, but this one right here—see this? Right between my naked boobs! Right in plain sight for you! Get a good look!—this heart, happens to be very flighty, naïve, and easily led. And it's the only one I've got. I can't afford for it to give out on me; I have no spares! I am especially susceptible to romantic charms, Cathryn. Okay? Do you get that? And I've been hurt a lot before, but that doesn't make this any less devastating. Do you have any idea what you meant to me??" 

I sigh again, shaking my head. 

"Twelve hours, and I give myself right over to you. A stranger. I don't know who you are at all. 

"I am such...an idiot." 

Silence follows for a few minutes. Finally, I hear Cathryn's voice again. 

"Oh, gosh...I'm...I'm so sorry, Delilah. I didn't realize how much we really did overdo this. I—we—I... 

"We didn't expect you to be so heartbroken." 

I whirl on her. "Oh, really?! What the hell did you THINK was going to happen? I'd just laugh it off? Ha, ha, ha?? Well, I'm sorry, Cathryn, or whoever you are; I don't work that way." 

I glare deeply at her. "I honestly, from the bottom of my heart, Cathryn Athena Taylor... 

"...I wish I had never met you." 

She in turn looks truly hurt at this declaration, but I do not care. As far as I am concerned, if I am hurting her—and Mistress Helen—things are more even now. I go on. 

"I mean, Mistress Helen...Mommy, or whatever she wants me to call her, at least she only mutilated my body. All those times she terrorized me, at least she never shot me in the heart. After she adopted me, I never doubted her caring and love for me..." 

I look up at Mistress Helen next. 

"...Until now." 

I see something in Mistress Helen's face just now I never thought I would see. Actual emotion. A feeling of which I didn't know she was capable. She comes forth next to embrace me. I allow it, but do not hug back. 

"Oh, daughter," she empathizes. "I will to apologize to you as well. I'm so very sorry to you this happened the way it did. As Cathryn says, the last we wanted to do was hurt your feelings this way." 

The first thought that comes to my mind at this is, Well, what was the first you wanted to do? Play with me? Jerk me around? Mess with my head for fun?? Y'know something? I don't think you two understand the concept of a practical joke! 

But I am spent. I have no anger left. Just disappointment and heartache. 

Oh yes, and headache. 

I let my head fall on Mistress Helen's shoulder. 

"I don't know what to think or believe anymore," I mutter. 

Cathryn places a hand on my own shoulder. I haven't the stamina to shake her off anymore. 

"You can believe this, Delilah," she informs me in a gentle voice. "My name really is Cathryn Athena Taylor, and I really am 24 years old. I really was orphaned like you, and like Mommy—or, Helen—I always wanted someone to love, and to love me back. Just like you. And she really does want to adopt me, Delilah. We weren't yanking you around about that. I am your sister. I want to be your sister. And I want to be your friend too. And maybe more than that, should our lives take that turn." 

I chuckle-scoff sardonically. "Great, lots of chances to get my heart broken again." 

"Ohhhh," says Mistress/Mommy. "Now then, come, sweet Delilah; you'll in time forgive us our little jests." 

"For this?" I exclaim, almost freaking out. "I shall never forgive you for this." 

I feel Cathryn again try to console me with her hand. I turn away. 

"Don't you see?!" I turn back. "Don't you see what has happened? You two crossed a line. You did something to me that can never be undone. This is irreparable. There is no coming back from this. Do you understand that? I cannot simply erase this from my mind like it never happened. Or like it was just a minor unpleasantry in an otherwise run-of-the-mill day. You clearly have no idea how much you've wounded and traumatized me here today. This I cannot forgive." 

Mistress inches on me once again. "Okay, Delilah...we know we've hurt you. We are very sorry. But—and this too is our doing, realized—you are also in a quite fragile, stressed and dramatic frame of mind just now, and you need some recuperation. We shall take you upstairs, feed you, tuck you in for a rest, and things will look much brighter after all is said and done." 

Not much left for me to do, I consider her proposition. I have to admit, food and a nap do sound pretty good right about now. 

I oblige. Mist—...Mom—... 

Helen whips me up a miniature feast, which she allows me to enjoy in bed, tucked already under the covers. Once I have depleted the repast, its saline density lulls me softly, lightly, off to Dreamland, only wondering what tomorrow may bring. 

*** 

October 13th, 8:36 a.m. 

I rise, quite disoriented. I toss away the pillow I have been clutching in my grip, wishing I could do the same with the disturbing dream that has been eating away at my subconscious as long as I can remember having been asleep. 

I make my way to the dining room, where they are already awake. 

"Good morning, Delilah," smiles Mommy. "I trust you slept well." 

"Hi, sexy," Cathryn coyly smirks and winks at me. 

I hug my Mommy and kiss my naked glittering green-eyed sister lover. 

"Hello, Mother. Hi, doll. Actually, you two will not believe this, but I had the most bizarre, perverse, unpleasant nightmare last night. Mommy, I dreamt that you just adopted Cathryn and brought her home to meet me yesterday, and then the two of you put on this act for me, where she was an actress and pretending to be British, and she seduced me, and we made love without your permission, and you caught us, so you took us down into the dungeon, locked me in the boiler room, and made me think you were beating the hell from Cathryn while I had to listen in horror. Then, when you finally let me out, you explained to me it had all been a joke, and I got so angry I said I hated you, and refused to ever forgive you." 

Cathryn and Mommy look to each other wide-eyed. "Wow," comments Cathryn. "Sounds like quite the mind-wringer indeed. I'm so sorry you had to go through that, sweetheart. I hope you know we'd never do that to you in reality." 

"My sentiments precisely," adds Mommy. "You just settle down and enjoy some breakfast, and then Mommy will give the two of you a nice bath. How will that be?" 

"Sounds exquisite to me," I grin as I scoot into my seat beside Cathryn and she puts her arms around me. 

"We have the most wonderful Mommy ever," says Cathryn, as I embrace and tenderly caress and kiss her. 

"And don't you girls ever forget it," comes the voice from the kitchen. 

Mommy nourishes us, and we adjourn to the bath. The water is drawn, the bubbles are added, as finally are we. She lathers us up, rinses us down, fondles us, tickles our toes, washes the outsides and insides of our pussies... 

"Oooh, Mommy, that feels good!" Cathryn gigglishly coos. 

"I know the feeling," I smile, reaching around Cathryn, playfully jiggling her boobies and nibbling her cheek. 

...Grants us her motherly climaxes, dries us, brushes our hair and departs for the afternoon, letting us go play sexy games and read one another entertaining books in our sacred library. 

Just another day. 

*** 

October 13th, 1:25 p.m. 

10/13/14 

Dear Deliary, 

The dreadful nightmare I dreamt has equipped me with a stronger and finer appreciation for all of the glorious things in my life that I since had begun taking a bit for granted. 'Tis a grand life lesson to learn to take the small and nice things especially for what they are, relish them in turn and give the attention they deserve. 

It is for this reason I have decided to write a heartfelt—and erotic—poem to express how much I truly love my sister, my sweetheart, my soulmate, Cathryn Athena Taylor. She knows I adore her, and yet truly needs and deserves the sum total of my devotion. She is worth each scrawl of ink I lovingly etch upon the parchment. How do I love her? Let me count the ways. 

Once I was on my own, a lone daisy in a field full. I blended effortlessly into the background like a communal chameleon. I made an honest and mostly solid living, and I was supposably content, but not fulfilled. Today, when Mommy takes us on an outdoor adventure, hand in hand, a daughter on either side, heads turn and stares are earned. We are not disheartened. It is known and understood that my present way of life would by most be considered or argued unorthodox, and I would disagree not. However, unorthodox is not synonymous with unfavorable. Encountering disapproval is an inevitable along any walk of life, and those who do not understand are not liable to support. May it matter? Not at all. I have never been happier. 

Responsibility, routine and structure are not bad things. At the same time, nor are they for everyone at all times. I am never privy to what the future may bring for us, but who can be? I simply try not to focus on it. Cathryn and I are not to concern ourselves with more conventional life goals—career, marriage, children, et cetera. Mommy takes such wonderful care of us, we are her adopted daughters, we are grown women, and this is all there is to say. We are, quite plainly and simply, a non-blood-related American family. 

I am Delilah Olivia Gainey, I am 25 years old, and I cannot wait to spend the rest of my life right here, right now. 

I will never as well take you for granted, Beloved Diary. Thank you for allowing me to spend my personal time with you. 

Love, 

Delilah



Redefining Punishment



She shackles my feet. My hormones are going crazy. I feel my ankles pressed firmly in the cushiony but tight velvet restraints. I am straining like mad to allow no (more) moisture to escape my soaked pussy. But in the next moment, I am surprised to find that my feet are not shackled together. Each ankle is cuffed, but not to one another. I am a bit befuddled by this, until I hear her next order.

"Now, dear Delilah, do be a good slave and stand on your tiptoes for Mistress," she demands, her voice oozing with malice. "Push yourself high as you can on your little tippy-toes, and reach high as you can with your hands."

I am unsure why exactly I am to perform this particular stretching exercise for her, but I wordlessly do as she says. I dig my toes into the mats, hoist myself on them and reach my fingers into the air, wondering if she wishes me to grasp an object above my head.

I've been on tiptoe for about five seconds when I hear the metal rattle again. A bit alarmed, I am about to lower my hands and face just an inch to ask Mistress for permission to speak again, but I am not afforded the chance.

I find out logically the rattling sound is Mistress Helen having bolted my ankle shackles to chains, not unlike my collar, and subsequently giving them an amazingly strong, sharp jerk, as my feet are whipped out from under me. I reflexively scream as I am upended and land on the mats flat on my back with an echoing plsh sound.

Dizzied, I shake the stars from my eyes. So that is what the mats are for, I realize in my temporary daze. My hands remain cuffed now over my head lying down. My feet are now a couple of inches off the floor, held up by what I must presume are the chains in Mistress Helen's grip. I feel that the fall has expelled a small splatter of liquid from my innocent vagina onto the mats and my thighs. Oh no, I think. I am really in for it now.

My heart begins pumping at double speed when the following sounds register. I hear some sort of machinery whirring. I do not know what is going on, as I have never been permitted a decent tour of Mistress' dungeon, or even a look around to take things in. I have nary a clue what sort of device or machine she is activating, but the next thing I know, my feet are pulled higher off the floor, until they began to bring the rest of me up with them.

I let out another squeal as my entire body eventually vacates the floor, now upside-down. I swallow nervously, the reality materializing: Mistress is hanging—nay, has hung me, by my feet. Suspended in the air, I cannot do so much as reach up towards my belly with my hands. They dangle lifelessly, swinging just a few centimeters off the floor. This is a completely new phenomenon to me in Mistress Helen's clutches. She has in past sessions fondled me, teased me, grabbed me, whipped me, raped me, shocked me, tickled me, trampled me, debased me in a dozen other ways and subjected me to hours of agony and degradation, but never once in six months has she suspended me upside-down. I am clueless what sort of pulley system or whichever she is using to hoist me. I am absolutely horrified at this moment, and for the first time, I wish my fear of Mistress Helen did not drive my sexual divinity.

But there is nothing I can do. Mistress has my libido in a choke hold. There is no simpler way to say it; she owns me. And yet for once at this moment, my actual terror itself is beginning to overcome my zeal for it. Even more uneasing is the fact that Mistress is 5'9" and I am only 5'2". With more than half a foot on me, I estimate she can have me off the floor and still stand head to toe with me. My heart begins to pound and my face reddens.

Suddenly, this does not feel quite so passionately good anymore.

"...P—...p-p-permission to s-speak freely, Mistress?" I sputter out.

I hear her ominous voice coming from somewhere near my left foot.

"Permission granted, Delilah."

I can detect a chillingly evil grin in her inflection. I begin to whimper. I want to ask what she is going to do to me, but I can't think of how exactly to do so. I have placed myself in a compromising situation. I have asked for and been granted permission to speak to her, but the words will not come.

Something like thirty seconds passes. Blood is rushing to my head and I cannot see, nor think very clearly. Until something that feels prickly and spooky crawls down the sole of my foot. A frightful titter is forced out of me.

"Cat got your tongue, Delilah?" Mistress asks me, her nails simulating a spider on my toes. I gasp. I hate spiders!

At last, I make myself ask. I cannot imagine the consequences should be any more severe either way.

"W—...what are you, um...going to d—..."

I squeak out the last four words.

"...do to me, Mistress?"

This time I hear Mistress chuckle much more clearly. It's the sort of open-mouth chuckle that tells me her lips have opened, but her teeth remain together in her aforementioned evil grin. The sound of her cold laughter awakens my bladder.

Oh, dear, please, no, I silently pray. Please, no! Please don't make me tinkle myself upside-down!

I hear Mistress' voice travel and her footsteps in a different direction. "I...think this time I'll answer your question, little Delilah," she intones. I hear some indistinguishable sounds as she speaks.

"Now, first of all, my sweet thing..." coos Mistress, pacing her speech, "...I've got your purse here..."

My eyebrows jump. Or, fall.

"...and I see that...ohhh!" she says, with the most animation I have heard in her voice this evening.

"I see you have come bearing generous funds!" Mistress Helen continues. "Good slut!"

My...money?? I begin to speak quickly without thinking. "Mistress, what are you doing with my m—"

"AH!" she reprimands me into silence. "You shall speak only when spoken to, or you shall suffer further consequences, slave."

"B—" I reflexively start to say.

Mistress goes on explaining the situation. "Now then, Delilah, my girl-whore...as I'm sure you know, behavioral patterns lead to logical circumstances. And as I'm sure you're also aware, time is money."

She pauses. I suspect I know where this is going, and it turns out I am correct.

"Your tardiness this evening has proved quite disappointing, Delilah," she reiterates.

I shut my eyes in shame again under the blindfold. My tummy is beginning to feel very queasy.

"I am, however, pleased that you have had the foresight and the thoughtfulness to compensate."

My mind cannot stop my mouth. "What do you mean?"

She doesn't penalize my speaking out of turn this time. "We're going to have a little fun, Delilah."

I am not sure I like the sound of this.

"Sort of...play a game together, slave."

What kind of game?

"I count a grand total of seventy-four dollars in separate denominations." Again, I can tell she is smiling without having to see. "Two 20s, two 10s, two 5s, and four singles."

I am being increasingly antsy to be informed exactly what is going on here.

"This in mind, I have determined your punishment."

One part of my mind is thinking, Well, at last. The other part thinks, Oh, noooooo...

"Having assembled the contents of our session beforehand, I've decided to apply them to the current situation."

Oh, please just tell me and get it over with, Mistress!

Her footsteps return, as do the feelings of fright mixed with pleasure as I feel her push my legs apart. "Your slave torment this evening will commence on a mild level. But don't you get too comfy, Delilah."

I gulp, my heartbeat accelerating and my pussy secreting again.

"Your object, my dear Delilah...is to hold back your screams."

Oh, I really do not like the sound of this.

"Because at the first level of your suffering, each time you scream, I'm going to take a dollar away from you."

I try to look up at her to shout, "What?!" but she goes on before I get the chance.

"As you may imagine, the intensity of the torture will increase along with the monetary denominations. When you scream for mercy until you're out of one-dollar bills, the punishment graduates from mild to severe. After the 5s, it goes from severe to brutal. After the 10s, things go from brutal...to excruciating."

A small part of me is still wondering what she is going to do with my money. The rest of me is scared beyond death.

"I know what you're thinking now. What happens when all the money is gone? Welllllllll..." She breathes a contented sigh. "Why don't we cross that bridge when we come to it. That way, you may want to think twice if you're planning on just screaming immediately each time, in order to get it over with."

My eyes are now almost as wet as my pussy. Speaking of my pussy, when Mistress grinds (what feels like) her nails into my labia after another moment, I let out an abrupt shriek.

"Well, well!" announces Mistress Helen. "I think that qualifies! That would be one dollar right there!"

I would love to say the next stretch of inestimable time is a blur, but I cannot.

Between the sensations which follow—sensations feeling like clamps on my nipples, sharp spanks on my ass, ice and feathers in my most fragile and vulnerable regions, and more spiders, all over—my next three one-dollar bills are soon also gone.

"Well all righty then," Mistress chuckles, "That brings us to level two."

I am already weeping my eyes out. My face feels beet-red. Sweat is dripping off my forehead, through my hair and down my arms. I only have two five-dollar bills, as well as the tens and twenties, so I'm expecting these next several treatments to prove significantly more painful.

And severe they are. Level two involves weights attached to the clamps on my nipples and—ouch!—a Violet Wand. My screams throughout level one were "normal," but are now preceded by whimpers and repetitive "ahh!"s which do not qualify but build to the real thing. I feel more ice, and in the next instant, I could swear she has just pierced my icy skin with a needle.

"AAAHHHHHHH!!" I screech, dying for reprieve.

Level two is done with—I would like to say mercifully, but that is impossible. I am now throwing out loud sobs, just trying to inhale and exhale adequately to keep from passing out. Actually, passing out would be a welcome change, but Mistress wouldn't allow it.

"I'm so sorry, Mistress!" I insist through my tears, hoping past hope she'll have a heart and ease up on me.

Nope. "Your pathetic apologies are of no use to you or me," comes the relentless reply. "Now then, on to level three."

The anguish is ante'd up once again. Mistress tightens the screws on my aching nipples and applies a number of pads to my ass cheeks, calves and the bottoms of my feet, which I do not have to wait very long to find out are electrodes. I long by this point for the harmless comfort of the ice, feathers and spiders.

"After all that ice, I expect you're a bit chilly," says Mistress Helen.

I only cry in response.

"Perhaps this will...warm you up."

My eyes pop open beneath the blindfold and my body locks as I hear a lighter click on. Oh, dear me...feeling impending literal hell descend on me, I hold my breath.

I feel my labia being pried open. "A bit of...pussy wax, shall we?"

I let out a gasp. "OHGODNO!! Mistress, please, NO!" I beseech her.

Her voice is calm and serene.

"Yes." Tzzzzz!

"AAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!!" I howl as the hot candle wax drips onto me and sears my wet cunt. I heave my inhalations and scream and cry bloody murder. My shrill exclamations echo off the walls of the dungeon. I have never felt such surreal pain in my life before this night. I have clearly underestimated Mistress Helen, without even trying.

"Mistress, please have mercy on me-e-e-eeee!" I wail.

"'Mercy'?" she repeats, sounding bewildered. "What, pray tell, is that exactly, sweet Delilah?"

Somehow, I make it through level three. There go the ten-dollar bills. All that is left now are the twenties.

"Mistress, please, you can have my money! Please, just take it! I can't stand any more!!" I blubber.

"Oh, you'll stand it, you little whore. Now's the time we separate the women from the girls."

I cough and hack just to get my breath in, and bawl like an infant. What is she going to do to me that could possibly be worse??

I am about to find out.

Level four is underway. Mistress picks up an object with which I'm actually familiar, her cat-o'-nine-tails, to whip me. She lashes my ass uncountable times, forcing wall-rattling yowls out of me, and once I notice a slight hiatus from the lashing, I feel more hot wax sizzle down my body. I've been screaming nonstop, but she will not cease. She pulls out all the stops. She activates the electrodes. She pulls on the weights which are already pulling on my nipples. She switches out her ordinary Violet Wand for an Ultraviolet Wand. She scorches my pussy and my asshole with the candle. I do not know how to feel in my own skin anymore. I feel as though I am having an out-of-body experience. Nothing I went through in my first six sessions with Mistress Helen was anywhere near this degree of brutality.

She informs me that we have reached the apex of my punishment. I have one $20 bill left. Mistress wants me to know what the finale entails, and so she lays it out for me.

"NOOOOOOOOOO!!" I bellow desperately. "Mistress, pleeeeeease! For the love of God Almighty!!"

"Your feeble entreaties only dissipate into thin air," she emotionlessly answers.

I am wishing I was never born. I am inexpressibly regretting the day Mistress Helen crossed my path. I am losing my feelings of humanity and compassion for my fellow man, and cursing the person who caused the accident on the highway which caused me to be late. I cannot believe this is about to happen to me. This cannot be real. This cannot, be real. No sane, humane person could do this to another human being. No one.

Mistress proceeds. She puts down the candle, detaches the electrodes, yanks the nipple clamps off my sore, tender, aching titties...

...Takes the lighter...

...Ignites it...swishes it over my bush like a magic wand...

...And literally sets me on fire.

However, she shan't allow me to remain aflame, so she then promptly extinguishes me...with the cat-o'-nine-tails.

She makes contact, whipping my pussy, putting out the flame, and I scream the only word that my mind can locate in the literal heat of the moment. My voice no longer human, I shriek—

"MOMMYYYYYYYYYYYYYY!!"

This amuses Mistress. She sprinkles witch-like laughter over me. I continue to heave my breaths and sob like a baby. The next thing I know, Mistress Helen leans (or kneels) down beside me to whisper in my ear—

"Mommy's not coming to save you, little Delilah. And do you want to know why?"

I say nothing. Her answer to this question chills my soul.

"...Because I'm your Mommy now."

I look up and gasp, stricken in horror, as she wickedly chuckles at me once more. "Oh, no..." I weep softly, turning in her direction. "...You're not gonna let me go, are you, Mistress?"

She stands with a tranquil sigh. "Well...now then, my little whore-daughter-slut-slave," she says, degrading me multiple times in one fell swoop, "Now that you have surrendered all the money you've been thoughtful enough to bring with you today...let's see if that cute little cunt of yours is completely destroyed...or if you can still manage to come for Mommy."

I try to look up at Mistress Helen incredulously, wondering if she is truly serious. My pussy has been utterly obliterated. My pain continues to defy description. I hear her activate the Hitachi vibrator. My senses will barely register anymore. I am so fearful now of how achingly horrific it will feel should I come, and what she might do to me should I not.

"Um, M-Mistress..." I barely intelligibly sob.

I hear her voice from up between my legs. "Call me Mommy."

The situation is beginning to truly frighten me. "Permission to speak freely!"

The Hitachi touches me.

"Permission denied."

My upper body bends back as I moan in distress. "OHHHHHhhhh!" I cry, suffering from my sore, throbbing pussy. The supposed pleasure has turned to a squeezing ache. According to Mistress the punishment is over now, but my woe only goes on and on.

"Please, Mistress, no more!" I wail.

"But you do wish to be rewarded for surviving your punishment, yes, Delilah?" she purrs. "And I told you, slave, it's Mommy."

"But it hu-u-urts!" I whine.

"It does?" Mistress inquires, as if she is not aware of how much she has annihilated me this evening.

Mistress Helen's cruelty has reached new depths. She has made me believe the punishment has now come to an end, when in fact the only difference is that she has assumed a new identity I have inadvertently given her. It is apparent we are roleplaying now, in which I would gladly participate, but the agony is unbearable. She pours on the torment.

"Mis—...Mommy, please, stop!" I beg.

"'Please stop'?" she parrots, massaging me roughly and endlessly. "But dear daughter, you're supposed to be enjoying this!"

"No-o-o-o, Mommy!" I scream desperately, trying to put as much pititfulness into my voice as possible. "I hate it!!"

"You hate it?" she repeats after me as she just continues vibing me. "But you don't wish to hurt Mommy's feelings, now do you?"

I shout incomprehensibly in protest.

"You do know what happens when you hurt Mommy's feelings, do you not, Delilah?"

I can only whimper. I hear her amble back around to my front side again, followed by a sound I do not recognize. I notice she is leaning down towards me after another moment as I hear her voice near me.

"You must in such a case now pleasure Mommy's pussy!"

Before I can react, I feel my head raised upwards and my face covered, tucked between her thighs. I let out a muffled reflexive shout. My mind is distracted from the pain. I am intoxicated by her lady-scent. An abrupt hunger-driven tingle shoots through me.

Another moment passes before I feel the Hitachi returned to my havoc-wreaked pussy. I scream again.

"You heard your Mommy, Delilah," comes her stern tone. "Start licking."

The situation has taken a serious turn for the sensual. Her immeasurable power over me is mightily exercised again, as she overtakes my already heightened senses with her prodigious womanhood. I am still pulsating tenderly, but the greater percentage of the horrible agony in my poor pussy is suddenly gone, almost as if by magic. I lean my face up to reach Mist—...Mommy's magnificent cunt, stick my tongue out from my mouth, which is now generating salivation, to proudly worship her heavenly pussy.

I can only hope I am performing adequately to Mommy's satisfaction, as my mind is spinning far too dizzily to concentrate. The juices from her honeypot just taste so divine. I think I can almost hear her moaning, but I cannot be sure, as I myself am moaning. I try to reach out my arms to touch her legs, forgetting that my hands are cuffed. I want so badly to begin eating her with my teeth, but I am uncertain as to whether or not I need permission.

What the hell, I think. This entire evening has already been outrageously spectacular; what can a little more mischief do?

I cautiously sink my teeth into my Mommy.

I cannot determine if she is moaning harder or louder, but I am getting the impression I am pleasing her, at least. I think I feel her parting my (what I'm sure now must be purple) labia, and angling the vibrator to bear down upon me. My back arches and I shriek.




Redefining Punishment



"That's a good daughter now, Delilah," I think I hear her praise me. "Suck your Mommy's clit. It's erect for you; you had better be grateful. Mommy doesn't allow just anyone to suck her clit."

I ecstatically obey. I cannot believe the reiterated power Mommy has, to take me to heaven, and put me through hell. Any leftover iota of pain in me has been chased away by our mutual cuntplay. I still feel a slight pinch here and there, but my mind does not even acknowledge it. My brain has shut off pain from my senses. What's more, I think I am on the way to the orgasm of a lifetime.

"OhhhhMummy," I gush, my mouth and face full of drenched domme pussy. "If fewf foe guh..."

For several moments we melt into silence and soft moaning, as I think I feel Mommy opening me and administering cunnilingus on me as well. I sense I might be doing a fine job on her, and at the risk of sounding immodest I am wondering how she is able to keep standing upright, but I remind myself of just how omnipotent she is. My jaws ache so good. I can already feel fireworks going off inside my body.

I recollect the exact details of our situation, and it makes me smile. I am orally pleasuring my Mommy Helen, and she is orally pleasuring her daughter. I can feel my body clenching and trembling. I am holding my breath for moments at a time, then quickly exhaling and inhaling again. I am certain my feet are bloodlessly numb, and yet also certain my toes are curled, pressing yearningly into each other.

"Good girl, Delilah..." I believe I hear Mommy praise me in gasps, "That's a good girl, that's a good girl..."

Several more moments of tranquil nirvana pass before I hear Mommy screaming louder and louder, and finally, at long last, I can hear that I have made her actually come. The realization injects me with love, pride and worth. I love Mommy. I love her, I love her, I LOVE her. She releases me from between her legs and I drop back upside-down, very light-headed. I'm a bit disappointed I no longer am allowed to eat at her, but at least my jaws can relax. My eyes cannot focus, blindfold or not, so I just let them flutter closed. I can feel the air on my face, which is caked with Mommy's come. The aroma stays, and I close my lips and just breathe her.

Mommy gives her own jaws a break and starts thrusting her fingers inside me. I begin to holler with oozing love and adoration for her. I cannot believe how wonderful it all is. It is as if Mommy has just somehow completely healed my pussy from all the torture she put it through before. Soon afterwards, I hear her addressing me again.

"Do you think you're ready to come, sweet daughter?"

I vigorously try to nod my head. "Yes!" I shout.

"You really think you're ready to come, my girl?" she repeats, taunting me.

"YES!" I repeat, pleading for release. "Yes, Mommy, please!"

"Say it. Say, 'I want you to make me come, Mommy.'"

"I want you to make me come, Mommy!"

"Say, 'Give it to me like the good little whore I am, Mommy.'"

"Give it to me like the good little whore I am, Mommy!"

"Now tell Mommy you're a dirty, filthy little slut."

"I'm a dirty, filthy little slut, Mommy!"

I can feel myself getting closer and closer every second. Lengthening and throbbing, radiating wonderment.

"Tell Mommy you love feeling her in your cunt."

"I love feeling you in my cunt, Mommy!"

It will not be long now...just another few moments...

"You want it?" she teases me. "You really want it?"

"Yes, I really really really want it, Mommy!!"

I am dying for it...I am dying for it...

"Ready to come?"

"YES, I'M READY TO COME, MOMMY!!"

"Then ask Mommy for permission to come."

"PLEASE MAY I COME, MOMMY?! PERMISSION TO COME, PLEEEASE??!"

I do not believe the next thing that happens.

Mommy removes the Hitachi wand and extracts her fingers from me in one quick motion.

"Permission denied."

It takes me a second to realize exactly what is going on. "W—...WHAT?!" I shriek.

Mommy laughs at me. I subsequently only feel her lightly smack my neglected pussy with her palm, forcing my still effervescent adrenaline and passion back down inside me. "Down, girl!" she chides me.

Tears come to my eyes. My libido slowly dies back down, melancholy and unfulfilled. My Mommy has taken my orgasm away. She has forced me to surrender hers, but has denied me my own. She has unwillingly pushed me to the edge, but will not allow me over. I would attempt to raise my arms up to try and reach my pussy myself, but they are too weak. I would attempt to rub my legs together to give myself a little relief, but they are too weak. I suffer miserably, unable to do a single thing about it. I realize the truth in her next statement just as she says it.

"There, Delilah. You're done. Your punishment is now officially over."

Oh, Mommy, how could you be so cruel to your own daughter?? I think tearfully, forgetting we are roleplaying.

I begin to cry again. "Oh, no-o-o-o!" I sob. "Oh, Mommy, why?!"

"But to teach you a lesson of course, silly girl!" she scolds me. "A simple, straightforward lesson about never ever being late, anywhere you go, ever again."

I shake my head, weeping inconsolably. Of course; I should have known. Of course Mommy would not allow me to come. She does not tolerate lateness, and she does not forgive mistakes. I feel her remove my blindfold and slowly starting to lower me back down to the mats again. At least my blood will be able to recirculate correctly now. When I am down all the way, she takes the cuffs off my feet and drags me by my wrists, back to the corner where I spend the first few minutes of each session. Naturally maintaining control of my arms and hands, she bolts them to the wall, just as she did my neck collar at the start of the evening.

I mentally kick myself for leaving my home at the time I did. Or not taking another route to arrive here. She's ruthless, I once more tell myself, woefully and ruefully. In that passionate moment I was so certain she was going to allow me to come. It is no longer my decision whether or not I come. As made clear previously, my pussy—as well as every other part of me, for the matter—belongs to her. My unfortunate pussy longs still for release. I try to bend my legs inward, but my toes cannot reach. The fate of my pleasure is literally and figuratively in her hands...forever.

"Well then, my sweet," I hear Mommy say. "If memory serves, you've with you...twenty, forty, fifty, sixt—...yes, seventy-four dollars!" Again, I can hear the merry smile in her voice without looking up. "How wonderful. What a kind and generous daughter."

"W—...wha...?" I start to ask, my blood just beginning to get itself in proper order again.

"I think I will go and treat myself to something nice for Mother's Day," she tells me. "Perhaps something to the tune of about $74."

Well, if that does not just put the cherry on the parfait. Talk about hammering the final nail in my coffin of humiliation.

"All righty then, Delilah!" she sighs contentedly again, killing the lights. "Do find a way of entertaining yourself while I'm gone!"

My eyebrows jump. "Y—...you mean you're just going to leave me here like this??"

"Oh, you'll be all right. I shan't allow my own daughter to starve; I'll bring you something yummy to eat. Eh, besides Mommy's pussy, that is." She laughs.

I rattle against the chain holding up my arms. "No! Please! Please let me go!" I beg. "Mommy, I don't want to do this anymore! Mo—...Mistress Helen, I don't want to play anymore!! PLEASE let me go!!"

Her footsteps start away. "Mommy'll be back soon, my dear!" she announces. "When I get back, perhaps we'll play another game. Don't worry; now that you're my daughter, you'll get used to your, uh...permanent living arrangements."

"WHAT?!" I scream in terror.

Her footsteps ascend the winding staircase. "Oh—but don't you be naughty and try to sneak away from Mommy!"

My eyes well up in paralyzing fear as my brain processes what she is telling me. Just as my blood has returned to normal, it freezes once more. OH MY GOD...it is now that I understand, we have not in fact been roleplaying. This is real life. It's not a session anymore. I am no longer my owner's slave. I am no longer her whore, I am no longer her slut, I am no longer her dog. I have become something so much more terrifying. Something exponentially worse.

I am her daughter.

She really IS my Mommy.

The surreality of the situation has been taken to an entirely different level. I realize that my earlier speculation that she would never let me go has come true. Mommy is keeping me deep in the dungeon of her home, as her daughter.

Suddenly, I understand why her practice is called adopted lezdom. This realization and the sheer horror that comes with it settles on my shoulders. If I didn't solely belong to her before, I certainly as hell do now.

Yet again, I have underestimated Mistress Helen, and what she is capable of. The accident and traffic jam which trapped me has ended up costing me so much more than I ever dreamed possible. It is the ultimate punishment. She has redefined it. Punishment no longer means what it meant before this evening.

I have worshiped her for as long as I have known her, but being kidnapped and kept captive as her daughter is more than I have bargained for. My heart begins to pound through my chest and I whimper and quiver all over again as I imagine the rest of my life as Mommy's—Mistress Helen's—imprisoned daughter. I look at the dirty floor in defeat and despair.

Oh no...she's going to torture me forever!

And...

Is that...oh my God...

Is that...a spider, crawling towards me?

Slam!

"MOMMYYYYYYYYYYYYYY!!"