16 comments/  160545 views/  51 favorites

Plaything

By: pseudonym2005



Author's Note: This story is an original work of fiction. Future stories starring some or all of these characters might also be forthcoming based upon response and demand. Certain characters featured herein may also be found in other works by the authors. Feedback is desired and greatly appreciated. Email comments to pseudonym2005@hotmail.com. Thank you for reading.

Copyright 2008 by Jack and Josephine Cutter.

This story stars: Allegra Widmore, Parker Wellington and Danielle Rosen.

This story contains: male-female erotic coupling, fellatio, cunnilingus, significant anal play, group sex with minor lesbianism, showering, minor voyeurism, drugs and alcohol, teenagers and the taking of innocence.

* * * * *

The sun was shining, the sky was a brilliant shade of blue and the waters were calm and obliging. The breeze was light and carried with it the scent of the salt of the ocean. There were no clouds in the sky, neither overhead nor on the horizon. Dark blue liquid stretched into the distance to the port side unbroken by land or vessel. The emerald isle of Catalina lay off the starboard side.

It was the kind of day men who lived their lives on the sea longed for.

Walter Driver looked out over the Pacific ocean and sighed softly as the breeze tickled the skin of his face and neck, pleasantly and much-welcomed as it cut the mid-day heat. He was standing on the tiny exterior deck adjacent to the bridge on the upper deck of the lady Allegra, which was one hundred sixty-four feet (fifty meters) of state-of-the-art Super Yacht, an expensive and ultra-luxurious little gem of a boat owned by the powerful Widmore estate, an old and illustrious family with significant real estate holdings and ties to the world of high finance.

Walter had captained the vessel for its entire two-year existence and had been in the employ of the Widmore family for more than a decade. His previous assignment had been as captain of the Widmore II, the personal craft of Bradford Widmore, eldest son of Huntington Widmore, one of richest and most influential men in the world before his death some six years prior. Working for Bradford had been demanding and challenging, but ultimately rewarding, and Walter had earned over his years of service a great deal of respect and trust from his employer.

Which is why Bradford decided Walter was the only man worthy enough to captain the Allegra, which was a sixteenth birthday present to his precious youngest child, his only daughter, Allegra Widmore.

"You're the only man I trust to watch over my daughter, Walter," the fifty-five year-old Bradford had told him that overcast day two years earlier. "She's my little girl, my baby doll, and when she's not under my roof I need to make sure the people around her are Widmore people through-and-through. The world is a dangerous place for girls like Allegra."

And so Walter had taken the job (with considerable monetary advancement, of course).

The first two years had been the easiest time of his professional career. Allegra Widmore rarely spent time on the ship and when she did, it was with other members of her family or close friends. For the most part, the two years had consisted of Walter steering the boat around as a companion vessel to the Widmore II.

Then Allegra Widmore turned eighteen, however, and everything changed. Of course, access to a twenty five million dollar trust fund tended to have that effect, he reasoned. Example: one of the four birthday parties she threw for herself happened on board the ship with more than one hundred people coming and going at various intervals over the course of the night. It had been the single longest night of Walter's life.

And couple that with the girl's close friendship with Parker Wellington, the son and heir to the Wellington family fortune, who at twenty years was a rather wild young man with great passion for the yacht-living life, and it was easy to see how far downhill Walter's own life had gone.

Walter lived now for those intimate moments when he and the blue waters could reconnect at the deepest levels, moments like the one he was currently experiencing where he basked and soaked in the scents and sounds and splendors of the sea.

A throat cleared respectfully behind him. "Captain?" a voice asked.

Walter turned and found his Second Officer, Albert Graves, standing at attention before him. Albert was a good man and had been with the Allegra since its maiden voyage, as had most of the crew Walter counted on for primary operations of the craft.

"Albert?" the captain asked quietly.

"Weather report came through on the wire, sir," the man replied. "Clear skies indefinite."

The captain nodded. "Thank you, Albert," he replied.

The other man hesitated. "Should I . . . tell the boss, sir?" he asked in a voice that spoke volumes. 

The "boss" was what the crew often called Allegra Widmore; "Miss Widmore" was other name they used. The name "Allegra" in their circles was always used in reference to the ship itself. 

Walter sighed. "No, Albert," he said. "I'll do it."

The other man smiled. "Thank you, sir," he said gratefully.

And so Walter began the short trek up one level to the roof deck, the highest point on the yacht and the spot Allegra Widmore preferred always to lounge about while sunning.

Allegra was easy enough when she was alone, but whenever the Wellington youth was aboard with her the crew tended to have as little interaction with them as possible; the moods of super-wealthy and super-spoiled trust fund babies could change likes the winds. Allegra and Parker had been upstairs together for nearly two hours.

Once arrived at his destination Walter immediately took note of three things: first, that the two young people, neither of whom were of legal drinking age, were sipping from glasses full of what he doubted were full of water or fruit juice; second, that their chairs were facing right into the noonday sun, which meant they were facing towards the direction from which he was coming, which he was thankful for as it required less distance for him to travel to reach them; and, third, that the girl, his employer's precious daughter, was wearing what looked to be the smallest gold bikini in the history of gold bikinis, which he was decidedly NOT thankful for.

The blossoming of Allegra Widmore had happened swiftly: one minute she was a gangly and somewhat awkward girl of sixteen, the next she was a sultry creature of legal age oozing femininity and sensuality from her every pore. Her body filled out in the perfect kinds of ways and her demeanor changed dramatically, too: she was hot and she knew it, and she acted like she knew it. The crew of the yacht, most of them male, were often subjected to her flirtations and teasing, and it seemed Walter himself bore the most significant brunt of it.

"Walter!" the girl squealed as she saw him approaching. Her pair of expensive Gucci shades had lenses so large they covered half her face, but not her smile, which dazzled. She was truly a lovely young woman, which made everything all the more difficult.

Walter inclined his head. "Miss Widmore," he said pleasantly.

"Isn't it a beautiful day, Walter?" she breathed as she rose to a sitting position. Her exquisite breasts jiggled as she moved and for an endless instant he worried they would fall out of her top.

"It is, Miss Widmore," he replied.

She sighed and settled back into the lounger, her bronzed legs stretched in front of her. "Sunny and perfect," she said, then affected a pouty expression as she added, "although this silly boy just wants to go inside all the time. Tell Parker it's more fun to stay outside, Walter, please?"

Parker Wellington had not moved an inch since Walter arrived, but at the mention of his name he drew a lazy hand up to his face and plucked his shades down just enough to make eye contact with Walter.

He was an extremely attractive young man with jet black hair that fell about his face, deep blue eyes and a well-formed physique, which was now on display. He was not the nicest guy, nor the most respectful, but he was not a complete asshole, either: he was the prototypical super-wealthy and boundary-less spoiled rich kid playboy. He had no real job and no real responsibilities, the poster child for the party-and-play lifestyle.

When he spoke, his words were languid and pretentious. "The simple fact of the matter is, Walter," the young man of twenty said, "that I can see more of her inside than I can outside, and the weather never changes. It will still be here when we get back."

Walter was stunned the boy had the audacity to make such brazen remarks to a man who was in the employ of the father of the girl he was pursuing, but despite his flaws Parker Wellington was smart. He knew Walter would never say anything to the girl's father.

Allegra scoffed. "Fine," she countered flippantly, "if you want to see more of me, Parker, all you had to do was ask. It helps with my tan lines anyways."

And to the great dismay and utter shock of Walter Driver, the respectable captain of the yacht that bore her name, Allegra Widmore reached up and undid the strings of her bikini top and pulled the garment away, baring her gorgeous breasts to anyone and everyone who came near enough to see.

"Miss Widmore, please!" Walter exclaimed. He fought valiantly to curb the rising problem in his slacks, which the sight of the girl's incredible assets had exacerbated dramatically.

Allegra waved a dismissive hand. "Don't be such a prude, Walter," she told him. "They're just my tits. I'm sure you've seen a few pair in your day."

Parker chuckled. "Probably not any as nice as yours, though," he said.

The girl looked down at her breasts and hefted each one in her hands. This was swift becoming one of the sexiest and most mortifying moments of Walter's life; he knew beyond doubt that his dreams would consist of those two luscious teardrops for many nights to come.

"They are nice," she admitted, pleased. She looked up at Walter, who at this point was pointedly looking away. "Do you like them, Walter? I trust your opinion more than anyone else, I think."

Walter nodded without looking. "They're perfect, Miss Widmore," he said in a strained voice, which earned another chuckle from the Wellington boy.

"Did you come up here to ogle Allegra's tits, Walter, or was there something else you wanted?" the boy asked with a grin. "She might show you her ass, too, if you want."

Walter decided it was best to get this over with as quickly as possible. "The weather report just came through on the wire, Miss Widmore," he reported. "Clear skies and smooth waters ahead. We will await your instructions. If you'll excuse me . . ."

Allegra nodded. "Yes, thank you, Walter," she said with a smile, "and thank you for your good opinion. It means a lot to me."

Walter was moving before she was finished speaking. His pants were tight and his heart was racing, and the image of Allegra's exquisite breasts was branded into his brain. His life, he knew, just got a little more difficult, and it did not help that the last thing he heard before moving out of earshot was the following exchange:

"See what I mean about the weather?" Parker asked. "Let's go inside. I want to get my hands on those gorgeous tits of yours."

Allegra sighed. "Alright, but I'm not sucking you off this time. I just put on my lip gloss."

And Walter Driver, a man who was known in sailing circles as a good and honest captain who never shied away from danger or difficulty and could always be counted on in a pinch, could not get away fast enough.

Part One: The Lives of Wealthy Young People 

It was an exquisite ass that Parker had clutched in his hands. The cheeks were rounded with just enough flesh to make grabbing or spanking fun, but taut enough to allow excellent viewing of what lay between and beneath. The skin was expertly tanned, the glorious recipient of hours spend sunbathing in the nude, and tight. It was soft where it needed to be and firm where he liked it. 

In a word, it was perfect.

Parker landed a heavy blow across the right cheek and Allegra Widmore yelped, then growled. She flicked her bounty of blonde hair around and glared back at him over her shoulder, her blue eyes blazing with a mix of lust and sudden displeasure. But those beautiful eyes fluttered shut and a moan escaped her lips as he pushed forward with his cock once more and buried it deeply inside her oven-hot and vice-tight pussy.

They had wasted little time once they got back to her bedroom on the main deck of the yacht. Allegra went into the bathroom to freshen up after hours of tanning, but was only gone a couple of minutes, and when she returned there had been some light kissing and fondling, but not much more before they got right down to fucking: he had the beautiful girl bent dog-style over her own vanity table, her legs spread wide and her weight supported by her elbows, her ass upturned, her supple breasts swinging beneath her.

"You're a hot little bitch, Allegra," Parker groaned as his cock hammered in and out of her body. "I could fuck you all day and all night and never get tired."

"Do it, then," she cooed, and moaned as he quickened his pace. Her right hand snaked down her body and between her legs to tickle her clit and she moaned again. "Fuck me, Parker! Fuck me!"

Parker reached around and palmed one of her tits, but it was not enough for him. He wanted to see them, wanted to squeeze them, wanted everything those wonderful mounds had to offer; there were few women anywhere with tits like Allegra.

Parker withdrew and grabbed the girl bodily and threw her onto the bed before she had any idea what was happening, and as she bounced into place on her back on the mattress she fixed him with another angry, lusty stare.

"Come and fuck me," she challenged with a sudden grin as she raised her legs high into the air and spread them, exposing to his hungry eyes her gaping and glistening pink pussy.

To hell with trying to get her on top, he decided. He could play with her tits anytime he wanted to, really. And so he pounced on top of her naked body and snatched her calves out of the air with his hands, and forced them back down so that her knees were pressed into her shoulders, in effect bending the girl in half.

Which was the prime position to open her pussy up and prepare it for the invasion of his cock, which he thrust back into her violently until he bottomed out with his pelvis mashing into her quivering ass.

"FFFUUUUCCCCCKKKK!" Allegra squealed.

And to add to the sensations assaulting her, Parker reached under his balls, which were nestled up against her luscious butt, and stuck a finger up her ass. Which also happened to slip in without much resistance at all, far more easily than he imagined it would.

Allegra giggled and revealed, "I lubed it while I was in the bathroom."

Parker roared and began to pummel her pussy with vicious thrusts. Her ass was on the table now, he knew, and he was not going to waste the opportunity. He fucked her as hard and as fast as he could, burying his cock to the hilt every time before withdrawing almost to the end of the tip. The girl was whimpering and squealing and screaming and moaning, and then her orgasm struck and all the sounds meshed together in one indescribable symphony.

"OOHHHHHHHFFFFUUCCCKKKKKMMEEEEEAAAAAIIIIIIEEEEEE!" she wailed in the those of climax as her pussy clamped down upon the invasive rod and juiced poured forth from her depths, and her body quivered and quaked.

And then Parker did what he had wanted to do for a long time: he pulled out and shoved his cock into Allegra Widmore's ass.

There was a bloodcurdling shriek that followed as the head of his cock popped past her anal ring, the kind of sound that might have sent the crew of the yacht running to help them if they did not already know what was going on inside. Allegra's eyes were wide with a mixture of pain and pleasure and shock and lust, and there were tears in them as they narrowed and flashed dangerously.

Parker just concentrated on fucking her ass as best he could, which was hard enough since the orifice was hotter and tighter than almost anything he had ever experienced. It was eighteen years of beautiful blonde ass, by far his youngest and by far his sweetest, and it was glorious.

It took several minutes before Allegra's anus, despite the lube and her own eagerness, allowed complete entry in the position they were in (her feet back up by her head made everything down below tighter) and by that point the girl was a blubbering mess, three orgasms deep with shots of pain and waves of pleasure at odds as they assaulted her.

As his nuts came to rest against the cheeks of her ass, both Parker and Allegra breathed a sigh of contented relief: her that the most difficult part of the invasion was over and him that the muscles of her ass had not snapped his dick in two.

"Flip me, baby," Allegra whispered suddenly. She could be a dirty, dirty girl when she wanted to be and Parker, naturally, loved that side of her. "Fuck my ass from behind."

And so he pulled out with agonizing slowness and watched eagerly as she flipped over and got up onto all fours (an easier ass-fucking position for them both) her palms planted into the mattress and her ass sticking back at him, up in the air again and ready for the taking. She wiggled it enticingly as she looked back over her shoulder, which was one of the sexiest things a girl could do if done right, Parker thought, and Allegra Widmore had cornered the market on executing that particular maneuver correctly.

Parker stepped between her legs and spread the taut cheeks of her ass with his hands, and looked down at the dark red and wrinkled plot of her anus. It pulsed with the anticipation of his cock violating it once more and that was more than enough inspiration.

And so he shoved half his cock back into her ass with one vicious thrust.

"OOOOOOOOOHHHHHHH FFFFFUUUUCCCCCKKKKK!" Allegra howled. It must of felt like she was being ripped in two. Her fingers flew to her clit to combat the pain with more pleasure, and soon she was whimpering happily again.

Parker, however, continued his assault. A few more thrusts and he was buried completely inside her rear portal. His hands spread the cheeks of her ass and he looked down at the lewd and magnificent sight of his cock stretching her anus. He paused then to admire that view.

"Fuck me, bitch!" the girl growled.

Parker roared and gave the girl her wish.

The fucking lasted longer than he expected it to, long enough that he lost track of time completely. He was focused only on the sensations of her ass clutching and milking his cock. He did not pay attention to Allegra and did not try to give her pleasure of any kind, although she experienced a string of powerful orgasms.

His hands gripped her ass hard enough to leave marks, his fingers digging into the flesh as he violated her bowels, fucking her mercilessly in the butt. It was animalistic and raw, and they both loved it.

And then Parker exploded and filled her ass up with what felt like buckets of cum, hot and steaming white fluid that trickled down into her depths. His cock continued to pulse long after the well ran dry and with each pulse, Allegra quivered and exhaled a little gasp.

And then he pulled out of her with a lewd and wet popping sound and stumbled back into one of the chairs, his legs weary and unable to support him any longer.

Allegra collapsed forward onto her stomach on the bed, her legs still splayed out to the sides, her body limp and useless, her asshole red and gaping, held open by what he had done to her. He wondered fleetingly with what mind he had left how long it would take before her anal ring contracted back to its normal position. Sticky white globs of cum dribbled out of the hole and ran down her over her pussy, which was glistening and puffy and twitching from her orgasms.


Plaything



The following story is a work of fiction, and is of the Hot Mom/Humiliation variety. If you don't think you can enjoy something like that, stop reading now.

*****

In my college years I used to tell myself my mom must have wanted to have a daughter. That's probably not really the truth, just my adolescent way of making myself out to be both the victim and the cause of her behavior.

This isn't an apology, or the beginnings of a rationalization for my own behavioral problems later in life. It's just sort of a record. What I remember. How I remember it? 

I was a child in the 80's, but for the most part I just remember everyone I knew, mostly other children. I didn't really have outrageous hairstyles, get way into spandex, or the whole androgynous fashion thing. I remember spending a lot more time outside as a kid, and that songs that touched on sex were always a source of controversy among the grown ups. Seems ridiculous now, but I guess that's why music is the way it is these days. 

Anyway, my experience of fashion came in my mom's fashion studio. There was no actual name we used for it, other than "the basement" but I guess that's what it really was. It would seem weird in another home that there was a door, between the kitchen and the living room, an interior only door, that was opened by a key if you wanted to go down. I only ever went down with my mom or dad, and the place was at times either obviously haunted, or my favorite playground.

It was nothing special. Just a mostly unfinished basement with homemade panels hung on the walls to allow pictures and future-project plans to be pinned, along with a few larger free standing cubicle-style walls set up with hanging sheets for doors as changing rooms. There were even mirrors in the change room, and one wall in the main area was dominated by mirrored panels. There were a couple of sewing machines, a large table that always had fabrics draped over it, and was forever ringed by the scraps from various projects. Next to the mirrored panels on the wall sat our washer and dryer.

It kind of strikes me now as a sort of mad scientist's lair, without all the science stuff.

Some of my earliest and happiest memories are of times spent down there with mom, playing. Mom always liked to dress up. Now it makes me cringe, but I guess I was the little boy who grew up playing with dolls, and to make things worse, the dolls were all his mom.

I thought mom was the most beautiful woman in the world. Days down there were filled with lace and silks and satins, fishnet stockings, fishnet tank tops, black bras, fingerless frilly gloves, cut off jeans, big outrageous hairstyles, and gallons of hairspray.

Such a situation should have been a minefield of taboo's, but I never had that impression down there. Once we were in the basement, it was a different world, with different rules. I saw my mother naked down there more times than I could count. I personally dressed her up in the sorts of outfits that probably would have gotten her arrested if she had gone outside, but down there it was all just a part of the game. I think it's to my mom's credit that she never made me feel weird about it, or ever suggested that I had crossed some line, and made me feel uncomfortable. She was up for anything, and the more ridiculous it was, the more we laughed. There was even one pin-board she had reserved for me, where pictures of the finished products I had come up with were hung. They were usually the ones that made us laugh the most.

Mom even tried to teach me how to apply make up. Naturally I had a child's flair for subtlety so I never really got the hang of it, but some of the results were pretty hilarious, and those pictures were some of my favorites to look at on my "fashion board."

That was another point in mom's favor. She seemed not to feel any hesitation in letting me pin up those pictures of her which didn't quite paint her in the most favorable light. We could look at, and laugh at, those pictures together. I'll bet she still has them in a shoe box somewhere, mixed in with pictures of her own creations.

And the ones my dad had come up with.

She didn't hide those ones either. They were pinned up alongside all the others. I remember a few of them made quite an impression on me. I remember they confirmed for me that my mom was the most beautiful woman in the world. Those pictures would come to define the word "sexy" for me. I also remember the weird knots that would tie up my stomach, and the hot flush I would get when I looked at them. 

That makes it sound bad, but I really think it was normal. I was still a young boy back then, who could count his age on his fingers. I'd never encountered anything remotely racy anywhere else, so seeing a woman in that light was going to have an effect on me. It just happened to be that the woman was my mom.

And mom was so nonchalant about it that I never thought it was anything wrong, or the pictures were anything to be avoided. When I involved any chains or leather cuffs in my own creations in our games, mom just went with it, and those moments passed like any others. She didn't make a big deal out of it.

Years later I actually found, and kept, one of those pictures on a trip home for Christmas. I still look at it sometimes. My mom is looking into the camera unflinching, and without a trace of guile. She just looks happy. I wanted to hate her for a while. I wanted to blame her, but the evil I expect to find just isn't there.

In the picture her hair is teased all out, in a way that I can just imagine my small child's hands tugging at and spraying hairspray into. Her makeup is garish, like a whore/clown's might look, but her eyes are wide and smiling. She's pursing her lips, like she's about to plant an exaggerated stage kiss on someone's cheek, and her pink fishnet vest is pulled up and bunched above her left breast, while the right side hangs down normally. Her black lace bra is also tugged down and supporting her left breast, exposing it. This was before she'd had any surgery, so it's just a normal woman's breast. That left nipple is covered by a black electrical tape X. 

That memory would pop into my head later in life, long after I had moved out and was making mistakes of my own, while I was near climax during a masturbatory session. Let me be clear, though. I never wanted to actually fuck my mother. Straight up. I didn't. 

It was more the humiliation that memory was linked to from experiences later in life. I guess it kind of makes me wonder whether I was partially to blame, maybe? Or maybe I did want to fuck my mom, and she knew it? Maybe that's why she ended up doing the things she did later in my life? Because that was the only kind of sexual relationship she could ever even conceive of that involved her only son.

No. I still don't want to fuck my mom. I think it was a lot of jealousy. She would come to be my benchmark for women. One that no other woman I ever met could ever live up to. She was comfortable with her own rampant sexuality. She was beautiful. She was submissive and loved to feed a male's ego and stoke his libido. She could give and accept love, or at least lust, with ease. On top of all that she was available, and didn't pretend she wasn't. Except to me.

Let me emphasize that. Seemingly any man on the planet could have my mother. Except me. The one who felt closest to her.

Rage. Humiliation.

-

I'll never really be sure why things changed. Maybe something was going on in my parents marriage that I was unaware of. I once suggested to a therapist that washing the sheets after my nocturnal emissions might have had an effect on her. I was kidding. He didn't laugh.

Dirty movies, mostly soft-core but also the occasional hard-core flick, had been floating around our house all my life. Yet, it wasn't until I was at an age where I really, really, just wanted to watch them alone, that I would walk into the living room most days and find my mom was already watching one. They were almost always on, usually as background noise. Mom would have a movie playing on the television, with the sound turned down while on the couch reading a book, only to look up once in a while and check on the film's progress before turning back to the book or whatever else she was working on.

Often she would be downstairs sewing, and I could hear the movies playing, sometimes loud rock montage scenes, sometimes just the overdone grunting and moaning of porn while the whine of the sewing machine would come and go. 

Mom was always cool about sex. She'd buy me Samantha Fox posters, and the sorts of things my own teenage sons would find mortifying if their own mother offered them. 

The real moment of transition wasn't really gradual at all. Everything changed one day in my senior year of high school. Well, extended senior year. I failed to graduate the first time around, and had to go back to pick up a few classes. That made me the object of derision among kids I'd always held in disdain. I also was never very athletic or even fat. I was a rather weedy kid, and almost all of those a year younger than me were already larger, and I was well into my nineteenth year.

I'm glad now that I got as many normal years as I did, but in my memory, the day before and the day after that first day were from two entirely different lifetimes. 

It started off pretty normally for a Sunday afternoon. I was up in my room, smoking a joint and stroking it to my latest crush, miss Kristi Ducati, star of another of the movies my mother had introduced me to: The Bikini Car wash Company.

I remember feeling pretty good about myself as a person because of that. I felt like I had matured as a human being. The year before it occurred to me that all the girls I had crushed on at school had reminded me of my mother. All had been blonde, with curled and teased out hair, a little shorter than me, and most importantly as I began to suspect, would never consider going out with me.

Kristi on the other hand, was brunette, and I liked to imagine that maybe she was even taller than me, though I had absolutely no reason to believe that was true.

See? Depth. One had dark hair, one had light hair. I was becoming a fully actualized human being.

So anyway, there I was on my bed, with a joint held in my lips, stroking off to an image in my head of Kristi walking, nude, in a mall with my arm in hers while telling me about how she loves to give head, and every asshole from school is walking by in the other direction, completely blown away and jealous. I'm just playing it cool. 'Cause me and Kristi? Yeah, sex is just a regular thing with us. Fuck yeah.

And I hear a rap of knuckles on my door at the same time I hear my mom's voice saying, "Knock knock."

Shit.

I didn't have time to pull my pants closed, get under the covers, even flip over. The door just opened and my mom stepped into the room. She barely even seemed to register that her almost full grown son was on his bed with his erect dick in his hand, looking like a sick ghost.

"Time to get up. You're taking me for a walk."

I turned on my bed to hide my shame. All I could do was nearly sob, "Mom!"

"Oh, get over it." She said, "Like I don't know why you spend all day hiding in your room."

This, in fact, was not the first time she had caught me. I had a strong suspicion she was doing it on purpose. She would catch me, make me feel like a dick for being embarrassed about it, then still tease me about it all day.

"Also, you can't smoke in bed. Are you trying to start a fire?" She said, stepping to the side of the bed and grabbing the joint as it tumbled onto my pillow. 

She held it in her hand and shook it at me. "In fact, you aren't allowed to smoke at all. You think I don't know what this is? I'm no idiot. This is illegal."

I was still fumbling to button my pants up, and trying to look away from her. I suddenly wished I were dead.

Mom was examining the joint, shaking her head disapprovingly. "Where'd you even get the money for this?"

Another question I didn't want to answer.

She glared momentarily, "You better not be selling this shit."

I shook my head, no, she couldn't think that, "No, I'm not!"

She took a moment, checking pointedly to make sure my pants were now zipped, to which I responded by moving a hand to cover the still shrinking lump, then she nodded. "Okay. I believe you. You spend way too much beating off up here alone to be out there earning."

I immediately recognized the teasing tone, so it came as no surprise when she put the joint to her lips and took a deep inhale, then held it. She stared at me for a moment, in what I suddenly knew was a mock menace that I had always taken for genuine.

In a strangled voice, speaking as she attempted to hold the smoke, she said in words that visibly leaked from her lips, "Don't burn the house down." 

She held out the joint, which I accepted, and immediately snuffed, no longer in the mood. Finally she released her breath in one long puff. 

"Get downstairs, you can finish when we get back. I need to get out there, I feel," she paused then shook her head, "inspired."

She motioned to the joint in my hand and added, "Might not be such shit after all."

I was finally beginning to grasp the concept she'd been trying to get across the whole time. "Walk. Walk where?" 

She shrugged, as if this were a pointless question. "Around. Walk around. You know, in the sun, outside. Walking. How much of this have you smoked?"

She grinned, but I looked down in renewed embarrassment for a moment, but I wasn't getting it.

"But why? Why are we walking? And why do I have to go?" I persisted.

"Because you're my son, and you like to spend time with me." She said sweetly, then leaned down and pecked me on the cheek.

"Seriously," I said, trying to get across my need for more information.

Mom lit up then, and wiggled while she talked. I tried not to notice the obvious sensuality of her display, running her hands up and down her own body as she spoke, though she was clearly wrapped up in her explanation, and not conscious of it.

"I had the most amazing success. You know I've been trying to mimic other designs I've seen around," I knew around referred to bikini movies and porn.

"So anyway, I got an idea for one of my own design, and it turned out So Well. I mean, it fits perfectly, and it looks Hot! I just have to show it off." She said excitedly. I got a sinking feeling.

"So why am I there?" I asked.

She wrapped her arms in a sort of self hug, "I need a chaperone. If I go out there on my own, I don't know what might happen. Your dad could come home to find his loving wife being defiled by a gang of horny neighbors on the front lawn." 

As she said that she ran her hands over her own body again unconsciously, and gave a momentary shiver. I felt a similar sort of sick thrill run through me at the image that she injected into my mind.

"Can't you wait until dad gets home?" I asked, now certain I didn't want to go. I was aware that I was still affected by my incomplete masturbation, and now this. I might end up getting sick somewhere from this new cocktail of excitement and self-disgust.

"It'll be too late. The sun is shining now. It's a beautiful day and I just finished. I can't wait to show off! If I go out alone, it'll be pathetic. Some half naked lady strutting around on the street alone. It'll look like I'm out trolling for cock."

I grit my teeth at the new image that presented, but it still didn't make a good case for my presence. 

Mom continued in her sweet voice, "Tell you what, you go for a walk with me, and I won't tell your dad about the pot."

My gut tightened, but I was reasoning it out. "You smoked it too."

She smiled innocently, "Did I? I don't remember that."

"He won't care." I said, and it sort of sounded like the truth.

"That his son is committing a felony in his house? If the police find out, maybe they just take our home away. Yeah, you're right, what would he care about seeing everything he's worked for like... hmm... his whole life get puffed away by his pothead son."

The words sounded harsh, but she said them in a sweet, teasing tone.

"Downstairs, 10 minutes. Bring the rest of that joint. We can finish it off," she said in a saccharine tone that I couldn't help but to smile at for it's humor and delivery, "like a family."

-

When mom came down, strutting like a young bride going down the aisle, she wore her newest creation, which wasn't all that substantial. She'd based it on a slingshot style bikini where typically long straps stretched from a V junction at the pelvis up over the nipples, and hooked over the shoulder.

Her design instead featured a thick leather collar which had a large ring buckle at the back, and had a ring at the front of her throat. Thin straps of the swimsuit's material were fastened to the ring, and stretched down across each breast to join opposing spaghetti straps that were hooked to the ring at the back of the collar. The union of material only lasted for an inch and a half at the waist before they diverged again, the rear spaghetti straps traveling along the top of the buttocks and disappearing thong-like into her nether regions. At the front the broader straps met at the pelvis, forming a brief V shaped union and stretched to cover the Venus mound. A very thin line of short pubic hair jutted up a half inch above the bottom of the V visibly. Matching red heels went along with the swimsuit, topped by long straps that crisscrossed over her calves and shins to a small bow at the back an inch below each knee.

I flinched a couple times as she began a turn for me, stopped when she saw me look away, only to complete the turn when I looked back, and noticed another feature that caused me to flinch. The second time, she looked down and her fingers pressed into the flesh above her visible pubic hair. 

"Too much? I was going to shave it down, but then I thought, hey, anybody who can appreciate my fashion sense deserves a little naughty peek." She smiled.

Her long straight blonde hair was now pulled back and up into a bun. I guessed that was to show off the collar. Usually her hair was her pride and joy, but some sacrifices were necessary, he guessed. From the dining room table she plucked a wide brimmed white sun hat she had left there, and now it sported a swash of the red material her swim suit was made of, tied off at the front in a broad bow.

One more touch completed the outfit. There was a rattle, and she connected a black strap leash to the ring at the front of the collar. She held out the handle to me.

I didn't take it. 

She pouted and shook it for emphasis.

"Is that really necessary?" I asked with a note of exasperation.

Mom nodded seriously, "It's part of the suit. This suit has it's own rules."

I reached out and took the leash handle.

Mom straightened the straps over her chest as she explained, "Be careful, if you tug on that very much it'll twist the ring, which keeps these straps over my chest. If the ring twists," she smiled up at me, "The neighbors will be very happy."

I nodded. I hadn't intended to start jerking her around anyway. I mostly hoped we didn't see anyone I knew.

"Also," she added, in a cutesy but serious tone, "The rule is that the holder of the leash calls the shots. I have to do whatever you say dear." She took me by the arm and opened the door while I groaned. "So don't jerk the chain or let anybody else hold it, or I'll be completely in their power." 

She lifted her hands in a helpless gesture and grinned as she stepped outside.

We had been walking and talking for a good 20 minutes around our neighborhood. I got used to the leash. Mom was flirty as usual. She would stop when she spotted a familiar face, always a man, and then push her ass out in a presenting sort of manner while waving a bit too excitedly at them. Many approached and chatted her up briefly. She was in a bubbly mood, laughing too much and frequently finding cause to touch them on the shoulder or the arm. She was eager to answer questions about her swimsuit, which was the main topic of conversation anyway, and usually explained the rule about the leash. A few of the neighbors made playful grabs at the handle, which often drew laughs at my panicked response. Then she would end the encounter with a hug for those who tried for the leash, and turn to go. I noticed several took that opportunity to slide their hands across my mom's ass. 




Plaything



She caught me watching and simply said, "You don't have to look if you don't want to see."

I was a little angry at the last guy, and noted, "But your married."

"They're just being playful. You used to be playful, now you're just grouchy. Men like to look at women, to touch women. I'll tell you a secret." She said, and looked around conspiratorially, and lowered her voice to a whisper, "A lot of women like to be touched by men."

"A lot of women like to be touched by the right man. Not just any man." I stated with a certainty.

Mom shrugged and grinned mischievously, "Probably. For me it depends on my mood. Today, well, I can't really hold it against them."

She paused and put a finger to her cheek, "Well, yes, yes I can. Hold it against them I mean." Another wicked grin.

I looked away, and she added, "But today is a special day. Timing matters too I guess."

I shook my head. She was talking nonsense, but arguing wouldn't help. She would just revel in her illogical arguments, teasing out my frustration.

"And when are you going to get a girlfriend," Mom asked, in a sudden non sequitur, simultaneously plucking the joint I had earlier stuck into my ear. That had been intended as a defiant display, meant to embarrass and dissuade her. I had forgotten about it, and I wondered if she had even noticed it until now. She put it into her gloss covered lips and looked at me expectantly. I fished out my lighter and lit it for her.

"What do you mean?" I asked, grasping at the dumbest way to avoid the question.

"I mean, when are you going to start dating? You're supposed to be out there now. You're in high school. I haven't gotten one phone call yet from a shrill, sobbing young girl declaring that she's pregnant." She puffed the joint and watched for my response.

I didn't feel like being baited. I turned and gave a light tug on the leash. "We're walking, remember?"

Mom, grabbed at her chest and coughed out a bit of a laugh. "Careful," she admonished teasingly.

"I'm being sort of serious though. What about girls. Do you like girls?" She asked.

"I like girls." I confirmed.

"So? I know you like beating off. Girls are like that, where you have to do a bit less work." Another laugh, "Well, only if you're like your father. Otherwise I guess it's more."

I shook my head, and couldn't help but to smile, and a memory came to me, "I thought girls were more than just fuck meat."

Another grin came from my mom, and I noticed that this had been the longest she'd gone since we left the house that she had spent not looking for a guy to wave at.

"Oh they are, but guys usually figure that out when they're much older than you. Honestly, eighteen year old girls are mostly just good for sex."

I shook my head, "So I should be ploughing my way through the student body?"

She answered again a cute, challenging tone, "If you can. I'd be the proudest mama in the world."

"Maybe I do." I challenged back.

"You don't. Too much jerking off." She retorted.

I was back to being embarrassed and turned away. I felt mom's hand on my shoulder. "I'm sorry, I was just teasing. I didn't mean that. It really is okay."

I felt shame at her sudden pitying tone and answered, with my usual teenaged wit, "Whatever."

"I worry about you sometimes, and I kind of wonder if it's my fault. I mean, I never wanted you to feel like sex was something bad or that women's sexuality was something to be afraid of. I kind of figured I was going to turn you into some super stud."

I flushed, and accepted the joint from the hand she was poking into my shoulder.

"What I worry about is that maybe, with so much stimulation, you were just over women before you ever got started. Like, if you have enough pictures, you don't need the real thing."

I puffed the joint, and passed it back. I didn't acknowledge that I'd wondered the same thing. Oh, I'd made advances, but they'd never worked out. I was aware I wasn't reading signals, but I was wondering now if I was deliberately reading the wrong signals. It really was good shit.

"We really need to get you laid sometime," and I heard the offer of a truce in her voice. She was saying that was the end of it if I wanted it to be. I did, and I was grateful. I knew what she'd say in my shoes.

"Thanks, but I'd really rather it was someone other than my own mom." Flat, cool. I was proud of myself.

She looked proud of me too. Her mouth opened as if she wanted to retort but had nothing to say to that. The corners of her mouth crooked up in a smile, and she patted me on the shoulder. We walked for another few minutes, before she said anything.

"Maybe we should get home. If any girls see you hanging out with your mom, it won't help your rep."

I nodded, again, feeling grateful. Then I heard the bass thump of approaching car speakers.

I reacted immediately.

"Be faster if we cut through between the houses here and go up the alley." I suggested, hurriedly.

"Don't be ridiculous," Mom said, sensing something was wrong, "Besides, my heels would sink right into that grass."

The mischief was back, and she prodded, "You're embarrassed to be seen with me." She smirked, "Why, who is it?" 

She turned, and spotted the Monte Carlo that was the source of the music. She got on her tiptoes again, and waved at the car. The horn tooted in response. I turned away, hoping not to be recognized. I mentally commanded the car to keep driving past.

No such luck.

The car glided across the oncoming lane to pull up next the curb facing the wrong direction. I could hear the whir of an electronic window motor.

"Worthy? Is that you?" Came the dreaded voice.

I turned back and forced a smile, "Hey Doug, how's it going?" Not his real name.

The volume of the music dropped, and I could see a trio of faces staring with shocked expressions through the car windows, all directed at mom.

"Not as well as with you, apparently." Doug said, then held a hand out the driver's window toward mom, "I'm Doug."

Mom, of course, was not put off at all by the attention of these three young men. She swayed back and forth a bit, giving movement to her breasts and flexing the muscles in her legs and ass. She didn't answer for a moment, but took another puff off the rapidly disappearing joint and held the smoke. She stepped over to the car door and accepted the hand shake while leaning over to look in through the window.

Two pairs of eyes tracked her breasts, which now hung against the supporting fabric of the slingshot. The third pair, Doug's, maintained their lock on hers. She held the look for a moment, but broke off first. 

Then she exhaled the smoke into the boy's face slowly as she said, "Mrs. Worthy."

Doug grinned, "Bullshit. You're not married to him." 

With that he slowly took the joint from my mom's hand and she let him have it. He took a puff, while she watched, and handed it across to the passenger seat.

"I'm his mom." She explained.

Doug grinned and nodded his approval. He spoke at me, but his eyes never left mom's face. "Dude, your mom's hot."

Expressions of agreement came from the car, and mom smiled. I didn't know how to respond. "Um... I guess."

"You guess," Doug echoed. "Boy must be blind." 

Still, his eyes never left my mom's face. Mom said nothing. The two seemed to be locked in some kind of contest of wills I didn't quite understand. There was another long minute of silence. I finally interrupted it.

"So yeah, we should get going. Nice seeing you." I offered, and tugged lightly, and carefully on the leash to get mom's attention. She didn't move.

"I like your outfit," Doug said softly.

Mom wiggled a little at the compliment, and made a move to brush her hair aside, finding it was still in a bun. She touched it at the back instead, in what was obviously an awkward gesture.

In a sweet, girly voice, she said, "Thank you, I made it myself. Just today in fact. We're out breaking it in."

Doug nodded sagely, "Good idea. Do you mind? He said, making a spinning motion with his hand."

Mom smiled, now somehow looking a little off balance, and nodded, "Sure."

She stood straight and presented herself, doing a bit of a curtsy, which emphasized the V joint at her pelvis. I saw a hand from the backseat slap the shoulder of the passenger, as if getting his attention. The other boy nodded appreciatively. Then she began to slowly turn, looking up at the sky with her eyes. More shoulder slaps and muted expressions of appreciation when they got a side view, which I already knew could easily give the impression that she was nude.

When mom was faced away and we were treated a rear view, Doug remarked, "You're a little pale. You could do with a little more sun."

There were chuckles from the car, but mom didn't respond, and simply completed her turn. Finally she said, "I'll keep that in mind."

Doug nodded, "Were you a model? Or mostly design?"

Mom smiled at that, looking flattered, "Neither, really. It's just a hobby. When I see something I like, I try to duplicate it, doesn't always work out."

Doug smiled, "This one did."

Mom nodded, honest agreement, "It did."

Doug continued, "You were really never a model?" 

Mom smiled again, but shook her head, causing her whole body to sway a bit.

Doug said, "You should try it. You'd be good."

Mom continued to smile, and nodded her gratitude, "You're sweet, but they want starving infants. Not me."

Doug said, "You could do car shows and stuff. They like women with hot bodies."

Mom moved to brush her hair again reflexively, but again found it wasn't there, and instead hooked a hand behind her neck.

"Maybe," she allowed.

From inside the car, "Or porn." 

A slap against a chest. A protesting voice demanded, in response to the slap, "What?"

"Don't be an asshole."

"I wasn't. I just meant, you know. Like Doug said, she's hot."

Mom stepped closer and peered inside, smiling, "It's okay, and thank you. Maybe if I wasn't married and a mother, right?"

Doug shrugged, clearly not seeing the problem.

Mom changed the subject, "That's a nice car. Eighty six?"

Doug blinked, "Eighty five. Thanks."

"Bet you can really light em up, right?" Mom pressed.

"Yeah, it's a big car, but she's not lacking in power."

"Nice." Mom looked back at me finally, and sighed. "Well, I guess we should get going. It was nice to meet you."

Doug nodded, "Um, yeah okay."

Mom said, "Well, bye."

Doug didn't move to leave, but sat watching, then stopped us with a call of "Hey, wait!"

Mom turned, to listen.

"I was serious about that model thing. You interested?" Doug asked, almost desperately.

Mom shook her head, "I really don't need a job, I keep myself pretty busy."

"Well, nothing steady, just thought, you know, I'd like to get some pictures of my car, for, like, posterity and stuff. I figured, maybe if you wanted to be the model, that'd be cool. I mean, I could pay you." Doug was saying. "Kind of a win win. You could wear your thing... your you know, your outfit, I get some good pictures. And, ah, Money. For you. Even if it's all just for posterity or something."

Mom was mostly waiting for him to finish. I could see it in her face. She was in. Still, she played it cool.

"How much money?"

The three of them consulted, "I dunno, I have thirty here, we could probably..."

"Thirty's good." Mom said, the eagerness now apparent in her voice.

"What, really?" Doug said, astounded.

"Sure, whatever." Mom said.

"Well, cool. Um, when do you want to do it?" Doug asked.

"How about this afternoon." Mom suggested excitedly.

"I should really get the car washed, and detailed, I mean, you know, for pictures." Doug was waffling, and now it was his turn to get slapped on the shoulder and chastised.

"Will can do it. He washes his dad's car all the time. We'll need to set up anyway. He can wash. We'll get the camera and stuff set up, I'll fix my make up." Mom was saying, mostly thinking out loud. She had just volunteered me to wash the car and nobody even looked in my direction to see if I was agreeable.

"Alright, lets do it." Doug was grinning.

"Fuckin awesome," came from the car's interior.

"You know where? Oh never mind, you have room for two more? We'll hop in with you."

The guy who had been in the front seat climbed out and leaned the seat forward. Mom jumped in immediately, and I moved to follow, but the former front seat passenger climbed in behind her and reset the seat position, leaving me to sit in the passenger seat up front. I heard introductions being made in the back, followed by a near endless stream of increasingly forward compliments. Beside me, Doug was driving but adjusting his mirror downward and sitting up straighter in his seat. Everyone ignored me.

It was a short drive back to our place, and Doug maneuvered the car onto the driveway, and out onto the back lawn through the gap between the garage and the house. It was quiet in the car when we arrived, and nobody else moved to get out. Doug was staring into the mirror, and there was a hushed, whispered conversation being conducted in the back.

I took the initiative and climbed out first, and set the seat forward so those in the back could get out. What I found was my mother giggling like a girl and trying vainly to fend off four hands with her two. Both straps of her slingshot had been tugged aside, and her breasts were in full view. She quickly realized this, and covered herself with an arm, and made a sudden move toward the opening. More laughter, from both her and the boys as they caught her, playfully tugging her back into the car, while she struggled playfully to get free. I felt a discomforted arousal stir in me as I watched the trio, with the two boys taking every opportunity to grope my half dressed mother. 

Finally she was out, and suddenly and uncharacteristically modest, turned away from us to straighten her clothing. I knew it was far too late for that. They'd gotten eye and handfuls of her already.

She didn't look at me as she carefully tiptoed to keep her heels from sinking into the grass toward the cement. Finally free of that, I heard her clicking steps and the squeak of the hinges as she went inside. I didn't know what else to do, so I went into the garage and gathered the things I'd need to wash the car.

Doug was in the house with mom, collecting the photo equipment she had in her fashion studio, and I washed the car with the other two. I was getting uneasy, as it was awfully quiet for too long. Neither boy talked to me, but they kept an eye out. Every time I made a move they interpreted as heading toward the house, one or both would move to block me. I was thinking of making a break for it, when Doug came out with some lighting equipment. This sparked an argument, with a lot of motioning toward the still bright sun.

Finally, with the car finished being waxed and the photo equipment spread out on the lawn, mom emerged, freshly made up. He hat was gone, and her hair was now loose and flowing around her shoulders and back. Her makeup and been refreshed and done over to perfection. Her lips looked fuller with more of the thick glossy red make up. She'd taken the pale comment from Doug earlier seriously, and had added rouge to her cheeks. She looked stunning. 

With self-conscious care I found unusual for her, she descended the back steps and clicked across the cement to the lawn, where she found the boys had put down a path of plywood leading to the car and around it, then covered it in a bunch of green fabric they had gathered from the basement. She expressed her appreciation as she strode toward the car, and everyone sort of stopped.

"So where should we start?" She asked, nervously.

"Well, I guess um, just stand by the front tires and sort of lean against the car first."

Mom assumed the position. Too much leaning, need to fit in more of the car for the shot. She was a little flustered at first, but soon they figured out how far back to stand with the camera, and she figured out when to lean in for a shot.

At first I felt relieved. It was all sort of conservative. I didn't want everyone treating my mom like a sex object, and this fit with the sort of car picture with a pretty girl style I was used to seeing. Then there were a lot of shots with mom bending over the quarter panels and hood of the car. Then her legs spread wider. Then one leg supported up on top the hood. There were more close ups now. Mom's ass (and cloth covered pussy) framing a shot of the grill and badge at the front.

Soon mom was crawling onto the hood, and I was wishing it were already over. Then she was on her side. On her back, sunbathing on the hood. Legs in the air. She was backing up for a spread leg shot supported by the windshield, face flush with excitement and hardly in a mood to argue with any suggestion made by the boys who were getting more and more daring, when Doug had a question.

"Whatever happened to that leash?"

It had been left inside, she didn't want it scratching the paint. Doug liked it. I was sent to fetch it. When I returned, mom stretched out, presenting her throat for it to be attached. I clipped it on, and tried to lay it down by the windshield to get out of the shot when everyone at once noted that it needed to be held. It didn't work laying there.

Next up came an argument over who should hold it. Doug was on the camera until now, but the three boys were all arguing for the job. Then Doug suggested I do it. I refused, of course, but the others thought it was a good idea all of a sudden. Someone mentioned that if it were one of them, it would look like she were a prize or something. If it were her son, that wouldn't be the case. Respect, and all that.

I still refused, but in the end mom talked me into it. I wouldn't have to do anything. Stand by the car and hold the leash. Please let this day end was all I thought for the thousandth time.

So it continued. With that resolved, I stood by, holding a leash attached to my mom's neck while she lay on the hood and spread her legs for the camera. Then back to a crawling position. Me at her head, while she thrust her ass out, to emphasize her Venus mound. 

Then she was reaching back, almost out of control at this point, tugging at the fabric to pull it tighter to give a clear outline of her pussy.

Doug called a stop.

"It looks ridiculous, and off balance. Bad composition. Great close up, bad in the more general sense." Doug smirked, "But I love the instinct. Will, why don't you tug the material, so she can maintain a four point stance on the hood?"

More arguing, I wasn't going to do it. Exploitative. Pleading from my mom. I was there to help, I was barely in the pictures, that sort of thing. So, again, I ended up with a handful of spaghetti strap at the upper cleft of my mom's ass, tugging at it to make a clear outline of her pussy. 

"Nice," was the common refrain after several angles and distances had been snapped. I sort of gave up then. I shut down. Soon there were pictures of me holding the straps of her bathing suit aside so it looked like I was pulling her top off. They had their fun with that, and I was relieved of those duties and given a different one.

"Hold onto this," Doug said, walking up behind my mom. He fumbled the buckle for a moment, and it was free, he skinned down the loose straps without a word of protest, and left my mother standing there nude, except for her strappy heels. He tossed the ball of fabric to me. A flash popped as it hit my hands, a look of surprise on my face. 

Moments later mom was atop the car, naked, rubbing herself all over it, assuming every position the boys could think of. Rolls of film disappeared one after the other. I disappeared inside and now nobody noticed or cared. Time moved slow, but eventually it got quiet outside, and I hazarded a look.




Plaything



Not what I expected. Everyone was sitting around the table on the back deck, with a beer in hand. Mom had a blanket draped across her shoulders and they were all just being friendly. 

"What the fuck?" I breathed. But I was grateful. I didn't interrupt, but sat down and I was glad it wasn't as bad as I had imagined it would get.

It was nearing dinner time when the phone rang. I didn't want to answer it, and I had been largely forgotten, so I didn't move. After a few rings, I heard clicking on the kitchen floor and my mom answer the phone.

There was an excited "Hi honey!"

Hi honey, like she was glad to hear from him. What would I tell my dad? Turned out I wouldn't need to. Excitedly she told him all about her day. She'd finished her swimsuit, went for a walk, met some of my "friends" and they'd paid her to be a car model. After a moment, she even answered yes, she was naked, then she said she'd even cum twice while they took pictures of her.

She hung up and went back to the deck. Listening carefully, I heard her announce that her husband would be home soon, and he was bringing more film. There was a cheer, and I sat stunned.

Soon the smell of cooking meat wafted up. They'd started to barbecue. A look outside confirmed that a celebration was in full swing. The cover was off the hot tub and it was frothing. Smoke from the barbecue wafted up over the yard, confirming the fats that were burning off on the grill. Open and spent beers were beginning to accumulate around the deck, and mom sat at the table, now wearing the blanket like a skirt, bare chested and laughing and talking with the boys.

Dad's car pulled up and yet nobody entered the house. I watched from upstairs as he joined the scene at the table, grabbing a beer, pulling off his tie and ditching his suit jacket. He was quickly part of the table, laughing along with stories, asking questions, then after one particularly evocative story, both he and his wife stood above the table, draped an arm over the others shoulder and shared a kiss. The three boys gave a salute with their beers and drank up. Mom seemed to remember something and raced into the house, tossing aside the blanket as she went. All four males watched her go. 

A minute or so later she reemerged wearing her swimsuit, and modeled it for her husband who looked on approvingly. She said something else, and two of the boys stood uncertainly, but she nodded, and beckoned them forward. They stood away from the table and began to undress. I watched as she then led them to the hot tub and all three stepped in. Dad stood, but instead of joining them, he went and fetched a steak off the grill and then sat down again to eat. Doug grabbed the camera and began to snap the occasional shot of my mom making out with the two boys in the hot tub.

It seemed that the boys were trying to devour mom's body with their hands and mouths. Her head was constantly turning as she accepted deep tongue kisses from both boys, while their hands roamed. When a mouth was otherwise occupied, she would plant kisses on their shoulders or back, or just suck or bite at the flesh. Eventually one tried to fuck her, and dad was on the scene. She was laughing, teasing, but keeping him away, while the desperate boy tried vainly to gain access. Dad tugged him away, gently, but firmly and eventually he yielded and returned to table to pick at food. Mom remained in the hot tub with the other boy, continuing on with him, until he too tried to fuck her, and the scene was repeated, this time leaving the hot tub empty with only my mom's soaked swimsuit laying in a clump at the edge.

Desert was something different. Dad lost his pants and was sitting on the hood of the Monte Carlo, while mom's head bobbed in his lap. The boys took turns documenting the scene with the new film, then rotating out to finger mom's pussy and ass. Dad was obviously getting close when all three boys grabbed my mom and pulled her away. She went willingly, laughing along with them as my suddenly angry dad demanded she return. The boys got between them, and put on a display of playing keep away with her, while groping and fingering her. Eventually dad gave up and began to laugh again. They returned to the hot tub and it was a more relaxed affair when another car showed up in the driveway.

This clearly caused a lot of tension downstairs, with the boys trying to explain something. I couldn't make out the words, even with the window opened, but soon a couple more guys I recognized from our high school entered the back yard bearing cases of beer. Tense introductions were made, then Dad and the three boys climbed out of the hot tub. The new arrivals got their instructions and undressed too, somewhat nervously, then climbed in with mom. They were nervous and unsure, but she was laughing and inviting. Eventually a kiss was ventured, then more, and soon, she was being passed between them. The others set to cleaning off the table, while keeping an eye on the hot tub. 

Soon, the expected happened and the two new arrivals were made aware of the rules in the standard way.

Eventually more people must have arrived.

- 

I woke up around midnight and the party was in full swing. I had retreated to the bathroom when increasing numbers of people had arrived, as it had a lock, and my bedroom door didn't. I'd fallen asleep curled up on the bath rug. 

Quietly, and nervously, I opened the door and ventured out into my house.

There were a few dozen people there by now, most having congregated in the living room, getting high. Some girls, some guys, but these ones didn't seem to be part of the scene before, which I couldn't explain. 

None of the people I was looking for were visible, but I had expected that they would still be out back. It turned out I was right. The lighting equipment that had been the cause of ridicule earlier was in full use now, accompanied by a large, bulky tripod mounted VHS video camera with black printing on the side I guessed would bear the name of my High School. Bright light reflected off the shiny paint of the Monte Carlo, illuminating the scene taking place on and around it's hood.

At the front of the car dad was staked to the ground with tent pegs and nylon rope. Each of his extremities was tied tightly to a peg, but he didn't seem to be struggling. His shirt was grimy and soaked with beer, while the grass around him was spattered with foam and mucus that suggested drunken vomit. A tube was duct taped to his head, over his mouth, which I realized was a beer bong. The funnel of the bong was taped to the grill of the car, just below the lip of the hood. Above him, I could see a guy who could only be Doug thrusting his penis into my mother while his arms were hooked under her knees, supporting them up and spread. She didn't seem to be offering much assistance. She did grunt and groan with his thrusts, which told me that at least she was still alive.

As I watched he stiffened and thrust harder and faster, and rapidly achieved orgasm deep inside her. When spent, he stepped back and out of her letting her drop nearly limp to the hood. I could see the shining trail of semen leak from her loose pussy and dribble down onto the hood, and from there over the edge, and into the beer bong. A cheer went up, and she was washed with a splatter of beer from the bottles held by surrounding observers, which also ended up cascading down over the front of the hood, with some ending up in the beer bong thus mixing with the semen.

I watched, stunned, as a bottle of vodka, which I suspected had come from my parent's cabinet was uncapped, and the open neck slid an inch or two into my mother's vagina. She offered no resistance, but nor did she seem to have any energy to help. Hands grabbed her under her knees, thighs and ass, and she was lifted so a smallish quantity of the vodka drained into her. Then she was lowered, and the vodka came leaking out, again, mixing with semen and beer to drain into the beer bong.

Doug reached down and the valve was opened, and there was a spasm on the ground as my dad tried to avoid choking, and swallowed the foul mixture. For his efforts, he was repaid by having another of my schoolmates step into Doug's former position and enter my mom.

"Come to join the party, Will?" Another of Doug's cohort asked, jovially. There was snorting laughter, and a few drunken cheers. Doug turned, still nude from the waist down, as were most of the others, his softened dick still slick with my mother's juices, and, likely, a fair amount of vodka residue. 

Doug beckoned me over. I stood my ground, so Doug approached. I sensed a threat, and so I made an announcement.

"I've called the police. They're on their way." I said in a nervous, high pitched voice.

The others looked a little concerned, and murmured angrily, but Doug seemed unconcerned. "So?"

"So, when they see what your doing here, you're all going to jail." I assured them.

Doug grinned, "There's nothing illegal going on here."

"Rape and torture?" I seethed, "I could shoot you all, and they'd never convict me."

Doug shook his head. "No rape. The torture bit is mostly consensual."

I looked to my still semi-conscious mother, but she was in no condition to participate.

I then noticed the camera was off the tripod now, and was being mounted over the shoulder of a schoolmate, pointed in my direction.

"No rape," I spat in a disbelieving tone.

"Nope. She's been loving it all night long. In fact," Doug paused, and grinned wider, "The ropes on your dad were your mother's idea. He was pretty drunk at the time, but he didn't put up much of a fight."

I didn't want to believe it, but I saw my mother giggle as she managed to twist and rub her pussy with her own hand. 

Doug got closer, and I felt my face burning. Doug's hand was lifted to my shoulder. I slapped it away, but it returned.

In a soft, mocking tone, Doug asked me, "Don't you want to help your mom? You're not just going to leave her like this are you?"

I shook my head. He was right. I had to end this.

"Come on." Doug prodded, and I moved woodenly toward my mother. The smell of semen came in waves as a slight breeze came and went.

I was now standing at the hood and I looked down at my mom. Really, my best friend. Doug was right. She was completely drunk, probably stoned too, but she was smiling through a mask of semen, and masturbating in front of me. Every visible follicle of hair on her body was crusty and matted. My dad stirred, and someone hurried to remove the tape from his face and turn his head. I heard retching, and smelled more vomit.

Doug was still at my side, almost whispering, "Beautiful, isn't she?"

I didn't speak or move from my spot, but after a minute, I found myself nodding.

"We've all had her. At this point, I don't think she'd even know." Doug was saying.

I shook my head. "Know?"

Doug grinned, "If you fucked her."

I squeezed my eyes shut, and a fresh wave of humiliation washed over me. I felt my body betray me, a heavy pulse thundering in my pants.

I heard Doug's soft voice again, "Honey?"

My mom's throaty hum in response, "Hmmmhmmm."

"Would you like another dick inside you?"

A giggle, "uh huh."

"Fuck her, Will." Doug encouraged.

"Yeah man, go ahead. I don't blame you if you do." Someone else added, half laughing.

"Dude, yeah. I mean, she's so hot." Came another voice.

I practically expected chanting next. I want to say I felt no temptation, but it would be a lie. There was no lust in me. Just anger. I felt abandoned by my parents. I knew now that I would forever be barred from every social circle in my school. And worst of all, the one woman I could never have, was the same woman seemingly everyone I had known had all sampled. She would be a touchstone for these people, as would I.

Maybe I should just do it. That would teach her.

There was silence as I undid my pants, and pulled my already pulsing penis from my pants, and opened my eyes.

Mom was still masturbating clumsily and mewling non-nonsensically. She really wouldn't remember.

Suddenly I felt the rush, and my mind was changed. I jerked back, knowing the orgasm couldn't be stopped, but seeking to avoid adding to my mother's degradation. Hot globs of thick jizz spattered against the hood of the car and it's grill, then the vomit stained grass. Strength left me from the force of my orgasm, and my knees gave out.

There was laughter. I was sprayed with beer, and I looked up into the lens of the VHS camera.



Plaything



This is my first attempt at an erotic story and I would be very interested to receive any comments that you may have. I normally write Science Fiction and there is perhaps a hint of that in this story (old Habits die hard). Hope you enjoy it.

Day One– The Girl.

It was wrong... It was a silly thing to do but I did it anyway... After all, it never happens to us, it can't, can it? Well? Can it?

Actually, it can... It does... It did!

I am confused. I don't know where I am. Please, I don't know where I am. I explore: it's pitch-black: there is something in my mouth, it is hard and rubbery, I spit it out, but it won't go. I push it with my tongue but something is holding it in place so I bite down on it – it gives, but not by much. Its about two inches across, hard and round: I shout, but all that comes out is: "Uh! Urr!"

I was at the bus stop: it was pouring with rain: there was just me and the girl: the Indian girl about seventeen or eighteen. She looked about ten years younger than me and just as bedraggled with the rain making "rat's tails" out of her long black hair. I'd seen her before; she always caught the same bus as me: the six-fifty. But we're both British, so we had never spoken.

Cars went past, we both got splashed a couple of times. I looked at her hopefully without her noticing: she looked like a student; short raincoat over jeans. Colours weren't obvious under the orange street lights. God! I hate dark mornings!

How did I get from there to here? How did I get the ball in my mouth? I don't know! I'm spread-eagled as well, how did I get like that? Think, girl, think!!! I'm upright, the ball in my mouth is making me drool; I feel the saliva land on my breast and begin to trickle down into my cleavage. I feel myself frown. My clothes? Where are my clothes? Ah, yes, the scissors. 'Snip... Snip... Snip!' I remember those scissors.

I'm at the bus stop with the pretty Indian girl. Oh no! My raincoat is starting to fail; that's the trouble with fashion clothes... They are useless! Plastic macs are out of fashion, so I get wet. A car splashes my legs and I hiss my displeasure. I must have said something because the girl stares at me, smiles and nods – her complexion strange in the orange light.

Something is holding my hands up above my head... Something is holding my feet in position about two feet apart... I'm the letter "X"... "X" marks the spot that I am in... My feet are on the floor and I am standing and it is pitch dark but I cannot move. Why am I not terrified? But its warm and no longer raining. Somehow I am at peace and past caring. I close my eyes and watch the pretty points of light dancing in my own personal blackness.

The bus is late. I glance at my watch, but cannot read it because of the rain spots that are striking the glass. The rain spots and the strange orange street lights. They say that nothing rhymes with "orange": what would want to?

A car pulls up: it is a big car, a Mercedes or a Jaguar. Big, white and mud splattered. I don't know much about cars except that I can't afford one. The window winds down and, curiously, I look in. An Indian woman leans over.

"Excuse me, Miss, do you know the way to North Road College?" Her voice is accented but cultured.

I answer that I'm a lecturer there , but its not straight forward from here... A lot of turnings.

She smiles, all pearl-white teeth with gold fillings. "Would you like a lift: that way you can give me directions?"

Say: "No!" Say: "No!" Say: "No!" Please say: "No!" "Ooh yes please, that would be wonderful!"

I climb into the front passenger seat and sink in: its like a very comfortable armchair., it seems to mould itself around me. The adventure is beginning but I don't know it yet... I am just glad to be out of the infernal rain.

I test my bonds: there are cuffs around my wrists and ankles: not tight, not restricting, just enough to hold me in place. I struggle and find that I have no movement: clips rattle: metal clips, but that's all. Oh, I wished that it was light... Then I realise/remember that there is something soft and velvety over my eyes. It is a mask or blindfold. I relax and let my captive wrists support some of my weight... I doze.

The girl at the bus stop suddenly leans in... "Hey, I'm a student there. Can I have a lift too please?" So that's where I have seen her before – she's one of our anonymous two thousand... Do I teach her? No, no I don't, but she's a pretty little thing.

The Indian woman sighs resignedly and says: "Get in the back."

I'm with two other women: I can only be safe... Besides, I'm dry! I'm warm! I'm out of that damned rain.

The big car swings out into the city traffic and heads north. The car radio is playing something classical – something by Mozart. It must be, it's soothing and it's pack-jammed full of notes.

"Next left." I say helpfully but something damp is pressed over my nose and mouth...

There is a sweet, sickly smell and taste and my head spins. I don't quite lose consciousness but seem to be in that state between waking and sleeping. Mozart reaches a crescendo and I feel detached from reality. I see the driver operate a control on the dash and my seat-back begins to move down slowly. Soon I am lying almost flat. I wriggle to get more comfortable, nice!

My head is spinning, but I am relaxed... So relaxed. I feel something round being pushed into my mouth... Something round and rubbery. The girl lifts my head gently and slips a strap around my neck and buckles it, taking care not to trap my long red hair. She is soooo gentle and her hands are soooo soft that I smile, or try to. One after another, she buckles cuffs around my wrists. They are fur-lined and have metal rings on them. This isn't right, but I don't care! I feel safe! I feel comfortable! I feel warm! Something sticks into my neck: something like a pin or a needle and hey! I'm past caring and actually fall asleep.

I dream: I'm in a warm comfortable place: Mozart is playing: I am in a very posh motor car... I've never been in a Mercedes before. . . . . . . . . . . .

"Oh Lord won't you buy me a Mercedes Benz?

My friends all drive Jaguars and I must make amends.

I've worked hard all my life, Lord, no help from my friends,

So Lord won't you buy me a Mercedes Benz?"

. . . . . . . . . it runs through my head over and over: it drowns out the sound of the engine (what sound?). It drowns out Mozart... Four nonsense lines play over and over filling my little world, drowning out everything else... Or at least I dream that they do.

I stare up at the car's roof: it is upholstered in soft white leather. The girl gently lifts my head and slips something around it, covering my eyes. Something velvety and black. A soft kiss is placed on my forehead. A gentle voice says: "Sleep well, my darling."

...and I do! Or at least, I dream that I do.

* * * * *

Time passes. I am no longer in the car, I am suspended on the frame. The ball-gag is removed and I am gently offered a bottle of water. I drink greedily as I am very thirsty. I become aware of a pain in my lower abdomen, it goes at the same time that I realise that there is warm liquid soaking through my clothes and running down my legs.

A cultured voice with a musical Indian accent says: "You must house train her, Hamsini, my darling!" The voice is gently chiding. 

The ball-gag is slipped back into my mouth: I do not resist, I do not want to resist. Instead I whimper and the blindfold is removed. I blink at the bright light.

The room is about thirty feet square and is decorated in brilliant white. Two of the walls are hidden by heavy white satin curtains After the darkness, it dazzles me. When my eyes return to normal I see that there are just the three of us: the woman, the girl and me. I can see them both and the resemblance is obvious... Mother and Daughter. Yes, that's it, they must be: Mother and Daughter. I feel pleased with myself for reaching that conclusion; after the last injection, thinking is not easy.

The two of them relax in white armchairs, they are just watching me They are so alike. Suddenly, the Mother turns to her Daughter: "Are you sure? Remember we can't exactly take her back to the shop?"

Hamsini, the daughter, regards me seriously then springs to her feet, comes over and begins brushing my hair which I wear long. She is very gentle. "Umm, Mummy, she is so beautiful. Just look at her hair: its like burnished copper. And her green eyes. Oh, I'm sure. This is the one that I want!"

The Mother stands and walks over. They kiss in front of me, the kiss has an obvious sexual undercurrent and lasts over a minute. They break and the Mother, still hugging the Daughter to her, speaks: "Well then. Happy Birthday, my darling. Eighteen today!" She squeezes her Daughter and kisses her again. "Why don't you unwrap your present?"

She sits down to watch the show from the comfort of her armchair while Hamsini collects a pair of long scissors from somewhere and begins to remove my still-damp clothing snip by snip.

She is careful, oh so careful as she cuts through my raincoat... She gently gathers up my hair and drapes it over my shoulder, then: snip snip snip through the back of the jacket, right down from collar to waist. I feel it loosen immediately. Then she repeats the process at the front... Slowly, carefully the big scissors cut my prized Burberry down to my waist, I whimper.

"Don't be a silly girl!" She chides me. "I won't hurt you... I'll never hurt you, my darling."

"Have you thought of a name for your pet?" Her Mother enquired. "She should have a pretty name."

I tried to tell them that I already had a name but the gag turned my words into gibberish.

Hamsini steps back. "According to the meaning of my name, I am the woman 'who rides the swan'."

Her Mother chuckled. "Oh how fitting: you plan to call her 'Hamsiki'? Is that not so, my darling?" She could see where this was going.

"Umm, something like that... There are many names that mean 'swan' but 'Hansa' is my favourite. After all if I am 'the one who rides the swan': then should I not have a beautiful swan to ride?" Mother and Daughter laughed, but it isn't a nasty laugh.

"Oh yes: 'Hansa' is a beautiful name for her. She after all is very swan-like with her white skin. Yes, an excellent choice!" With Mother's approved and I became her Daughter's beautiful white swan.

Hamsini turned back to me, and with a few more snips , opened my sleeves from collar to cuff. The raincoat fell away, revealing my brown turtle-neck jumper. "Oh, what an ugly garment!" Hamsini gasped and snipped away at my favourite jumper in exactly the same way as my Burberry, only this time she sheared through my bra too and I was suddenly naked above the waist.

The girl lowered the scissors and gently played with one of my breasts. I was sure that this was wrong, but my nipples betrayed me, for as soon as she ran her finger around them. They stiffened and stood out. She licked one and gently flicked it with her tongue. "Oh, how cute... They're coral-pink not chocolate-brown!" She proclaimed in surprise.

Her Mother chuckled happily at her Daughter's reaction to my tits.

"Can they be made larger?" Hamsini asked hopefully.

"The breasts or the nipples?"

"Umm, both, please." The Daughter answered hopefully.

"I don't see why not. Tell you what, finish unwrapping her and we'll discus what needs to be improved. After all, I want your Birthday present to be perfect!"

My head was clearing slowly: I wasn't in any immediate danger: nothing life threatening: but judging by what they were saying, my life was about to change beyond all recognition.

The scissors snipped again – one long cut this time, straight down the front of my skirt so that everything fell away leaving me in just a pair of pale-blue panties. Then two very careful snips later, both down the outside of each leg, and I was naked except for the cuff around each ankle and wrist. I look at them, each one has a metal loop built into it: the loop is attached to the frame by a large brass padlock. I clearly wasn't going anywhere in the near future!

Hamsini stepped back and began to appraise me, or more precisely, my body. She stared at me for several minutes and I blushed a deep red. "Oh! How quaint." The girl seemed genuinely pleased by my reaction.

She stepped forward and slipped a hand between my legs. I felt a finger gently ease up into my pussy. "She's quite moist even now, Mummy. I think she likes girls!"

Her Mother found this to be funny and chuckled again. "Don't worry, my precious child, if she doesn't, she soon will."

The girl withdrew her finger: sniffed it, then tasted it. "Oh, wow! She's heavenly. I can't wait to lick her out." She tweaked my pubic hair and I winced. "But that patch of red fur has got to go: I hate getting hair in my mouth!"

Her Mother nodded but said nothing as she sat there enjoying her Daughter's obvious pleasure.

Presently they reapplied my blindfold and left me to my thoughts, such as they were. I sensed movement near me occasionally - no doubt the remains of my clothes were being cleared away. Then I was left to doze: I must have been drugged again for I have only vague memories of the remains of that day.

What is it that people say when they are trying to sound knowledgeable in an attempt to impress? 'Today is the first day of the rest of your life.'

If that isn't pretensions drivel, then nothing is... But there again, in my case it was more or less true... Except... Today was certainly the first day of Hansa's life and the last of my own.

Day Two – The Awakening.

IMPORTANT NOTE: After 'Day One' I was, and still am, unsure as to the number of actual days that passed: only the sequence of events. It will be 'Day Twenty-One' before I see daylight again, or experience anything which could be described as 'a complete day'. The events that I describe as happening on 'Day Two' may indeed have taken place on 'The Second Day'. However, they may have also taken place at the end of 'Day One' or on 'Day Three' or even 'Day Thirty'! There is no way to know for sure. The event sequence is correct but the day numbers are really little more than pegs upon which to hang these events.

I woke up the next(?) morning... Well I think it was the next... The mask and the ball gag were gone as was the frame, although I was still in the white room; or one identical to it.

"Good morning, Hansa, my darling!" A familiar and enthusiastic girlish voice cut into the tangled nightmare of my dreams. Nightmare? No! There was nothing unpleasant about my dreams or predicament. Surreal, yes. Unpleasant, no. For all intents and purposes, my life as a Human Being seemed to be over and that of a beloved pet animal had seamlessly taken its place.

I rolled over in my nest of blankets and beheld the face of my owner: the girl from yesterday who I only knew as Hamsini: the swan-rider. I smiled and she smiled back. She reached forward and buckled a diamanté-studded dog collar around my neck. It was soft and velvety against my skin. She kissed me on top of my head – exactly the same way that I used to kiss my dog when I was a child.

I look around... It seems that I had slept in some sort of large pet bed one with my name on it.

"Mummy says that I must look after you properly: well I intend to!" I felt her running her fingers through my hair.

"Where am I?" I asked plaintively.

The slap stung my face and was quite unexpected because of the gentle treatment that I had hither-to received. "Bad puppy-girl! You must only bark or whine, animals do not speak in words. If Mummy finds out, she'll have them take your voice away. I don't want that, not yet anyway. You are a pet, so remember that and we'll both be very happy."

I was still light-headed, probably due to the cocktail of drugs that I had been fed yesterday when I was given an injection to keep me docile, so they were planning to keep me drugged to make me compliant.

Hamsini stands over me: she was wearing a white satin blouse, a bright tartan miniskirt and white knee length socks while I am dressed in precisely nothing. "Come on, lazy-bones: time for breakfast!"

She clips a lead onto my collar and leads me across the room to a food bowl. I crawl on all fours, much to the girl's pleasure. Breakfast is eaten on the floor.

After I had eaten as best I could, she carefully washes my face and brushes my hair and her own. Hers, though the blackest black, was as long as mine.

She expects me to 'puddle' on sheets of newspaper... So this is what her Mother had meant by 'house-training'. I squat down as best I can, but the stream of liquid gushes out, splashes up and soaks my legs and feet. 

"I think that I had better let you use a toilet from now on." Is her only comment, although I think that she is more than a little disappointed that the experiment has failed. She dries me off and I am allowed to relieve myself with dignity thereafter. 

She allows me to walk upright most of the time as I am clearly no physical threat to her... In fact I am slightly taller and at twenty-eight, mine is the more mature figure: a figure that she seems to enjoy exploring. That exploration begins in the shower; although I must admit that before "The Second Day", showering had always been a non-social activity for me. Today I am expected to wash both of us while Hamsini plays with my body and shows obvious enjoyment in the process. The play and exploration becomes more sexual as time goes on until she gently pushes me into a kneeling position and presses her pussy against my face.

Am I expected to lick her? I honestly do not know how too. If she expects me to gratify her then she will have to teach me how. But no! She just intends to use me. Gently at first and then gradually faster and faster, she begins to rub her vulva against my face. She is using me to masturbate against... I am actually relieved as she rubs her self ecstatically against my mouth, cheeks and nose. I don't need to do anything other than cooperate and she soon cums and actually squirted over me during her orgasm. The shower took most of it away, but some goes into my mouth. I have not tasted a girl before: she is exquisite. She screams and twitches in orgasmic release, then helps me to my feet and out of the shower. We dry each other on large, soft white towels... This will become a daily ritual, although as yet I am unaware of this aspect of my future existence. 

Days Four to Twenty – The Improvements.

My confusion continues. I am separated from my beloved Hamsini and her all-powerful Mother. Once the woman is satisfied that I am truly what her Daughter wants, I am put into the hands of a shadowy section of the Medical Profession. Her "Special Doctors" as she always calls them

Over the next many days I am kept sedated while my body is cut, tucked and padded out. It is a heady mix of lethargy, torpor, confusion, sleep, drowsiness and shadows. People speak, their voices echo. Their words are in no languages that I understand. They echo through my hearing and throughout my poor empty head. Someone seems to snarl gutturally at me while another hisses and hacks as if they are clearing their throat. There is a sing-song argument; laughter; a memory of arm waving – a lot of arm waving. I drift in and out of consciousness. My body is the centre of attention while the mind, hiding somewhere, is ignored. I feel, low, high, remote. I feel wanted and reviled all at the same time. I do not feel as if I am me or even that there is a me for them to be concerned about. 

There is pain. There is soreness. There is a burning sensation in my groin, then in my arm pits. I drift off to sleep. I drift back to something resembling consciousness. The old pains are gone: now I have new ones and my throat is on fire. There is a heavy weight pressing down against my chest and I cannot move. I am suspended in some sort of a cradle and figures in green scrubs are tinkering with me. I drift off to sleep again. This happens time after time... The hours stretch into days into weeks, or so it seems as I awake and fall asleep without and reference to day and night. I am connected to bags, bottles and containers by tubes and wires, Electrical things beep and click in response to I know not what. Shadowy figures in green read the dials and gauges... Time passes.




Plaything



My feminine curves are exaggerated... Nothing extreme... I seem to have gone from 34B-26-34 to 44DD-24-38 with a well padded rump. I was never sure that I wanted big breasts: but Hamsini wants me to have them, so thinking about it I want them too. My nipples however now stiffen to at least an inch long and my alveoli seem to be the size of saucers. They have also remodelled my lovely pussy: it is now more sensitive and my clitty is as long and as thick as my thumb and erects like a small cock when I am aroused, which seems to be most of the time. My outer lips are fuller and more swollen now and my inner ones seem to hang lower and are more rubbery. If anything brushes against them I get a distinct thrill, almost like an electric shock. Not only has my arse been padded but my pucker seems to have been stretched and made more sensitive and accommodating. In my innocence I wonder why.

The last change, and the only strange one is the tail... Yes, Hamsini, has had them grow me a tail – a real flesh and blood one. A tail with long red hair transplanted from my scalp. It seems that they removed a strip an inch wide from forehead to nape. Some of it forms the skin of my new tail while the rest of it runs down my neck and spine to link it with my hair. They closed the gap in my scalp and it is no longer visible now that it has healed.

I have a strip of red hair running right down my back and a short tail with long hair like a horse's. My darling Hamsini tells me that I should be able to 'swish' it from side to side as well as being able to raise it. Yes, it has its own muscles, that were stripped out of my back or from somewhere else where they were not needed. It is numb at the moment but will have feeling when the nerves regenerate..

Lastly, I try to speak... Nothing comes out other than squeaks, yelps and squeals. Hamsini's Mother has been as good as her word... Animals do not speak and pets are animals, all said and done.

Of cause. I found most of this out later, although, I don't really care. Why should I? I am pampered and live in comfort. I am loved and wanted. The pressures and stresses of my old life have faded and I do not want them back. Being a pet is so relaxing.

Now I am recuperating: in a few days I will be going to my new home. I am still suspended but am partly encased in a body mould to support my modified body. I have a distinct memory of whispering deep inside my head. I cannot hear the words, but they seem to be comforting. I vaguely remember pictures and videos flashing and flickering in front of my eyes. Things are becoming clearer – girls are wonderful...

Spring is in the air and I am looking forward to using my new body for pleasure, after all that is why I have been given it... I can't help wondering what else life has in store for me.

Day Twenty-One: The Swan and her rider.

I am home and wake up on the first morning in my basket. It is big and round with a padded, satin-covered base. I have blankets to keep me warm and cushions to cuddle up to.

Hamsini wakes me up on this special morning: all of the confusing sights, sounds and smells of my medical adventures seem to fade when I see her beautiful face and laughing golden eyes. She clips on my lead and takes me to somewhere that I can relieve myself. She watches but I don't seem to mind. Next we shower and she explores my improved body, squealing with delight as she caresses it. When my clitty twitches, begins to stiffen and slips out from between my labia, she cannot believe it at first. Very slowly, she reaches out and gently strokes it, then she grasps it and plays with it: she treats it as if it is a cock and tries to masturbate it just like a little boy would. I orgasm several times as she fondles it. Out of the shower, we dry each other using the soft white towels and then brush each other's hair after drying it. She then brushes my new mane and tail... How I wish that I could enjoy the sensation.

She takes one of my nipples in her mouth and sucks greedily like an infant at the breast.. Her eyes go wide as it grows and swells to a full inch inside her mouth. I want her to take me right now in the dressing room but she doesn't. Instead she leads me back into the white room, which she tells me is our playroom. This is where I slept, but when I look for my basket, it has gone. She sees my distress and tells me that she has had it moved into her bedroom because that is where I will sleep from now on.

I look around at the room, it is very plain. The walls and ceiling are a brilliant dazzling white while the floor is smooth, varnished pale wood. It is a sprung floor like in a gymnasium, a dance studio or a ballroom. One wall is mirrored while the one opposite is one single massive window looking out onto a very large walled garden. There are four doors: one to the garden, one to the toilet and one to Hamsini's suite of rooms. The fourth one is locked. It is clearly a very big house belonging to a very wealthy family.

Hamsini gets me to jog around the playroom just so that she can see how the new me moves. The big breasts seem to bounce with a rhythm all of their own, while the wide arse is built for comfort and not speed. The nerves haven't regenerated yet, so the tail hangs lifeless and without feeling. Hamsini stops me and then plays with my tail... She seems to love it. She runs her fingers through the ridge of hair that now grows down my back: she loves this also. Strange that she likes this hair yet had them remove the tufts in my armpits and around my pussy. The latter is now smooth and much more sensitive. She fingers it and I quiver. She smiles, pulls my head down and kisses me full on the mouth. I have never kissed a girl before and my response surprises me... I relax into her nut-brown arms, close my eyes and let her explore my mouth with her questing tongue. I am hers for the rest of my life and we both know it. 

Hamsini uses the silver chain dog-lead to pull me in front of the mirror wall. Oh, wow! I have been given tattooed-on make-up: full coral pink lips, subtle green eye shadow and delicate black eye lines to make my eyes seem bigger and more feminine. The collar that is still buckled around my neck is beautiful, the diamantés sparkle and glitter as I move and the light catches them at different angles. There is a change. Emeralds have been added to spell out 'Hansa' in sparkling green letters. It is a beautiful name – it is mine!!! I am Hansa! I am her White Swan!

There is Hindi script tattooed in gold above my left breast. Hamsini sees me puzzling over it and smiles warmly. "It says: 'Hamsini's Pet Swan', my darling."

I spin around and kiss her so fast that she is startled. I take the lead this time and clearly this is something that she was not expecting... Something has changed: I love her and I want to love her. Of cause I am hers but this also means that she is mine. I hold her and feel her relax in my arms. She drops the lead and I gently began to explore the inside of her mouth with the tip of my tongue. The kiss goes on and on: my tongue finds hers and they rub sensually against each other. The swan rider seems to grow heavy and soon her swan is supporting her weight as she relaxes completely. The kiss ends when I am too light headed to continue.

My Rider's back arches as her head tilts slowly backwards. Soon she is staring up at the ceiling and her wonderful black hair cascades down to her cute little arse. 

"Oh Hansa, darling Hansa! That was wonderful!" My rider says breathily.

I try to say something, but can only manage a puppy-like whine: "Hnn, hnn, hnn, hnn."

She straightens up and stares in horror. "Oh, Mummy had them take away your voice after all! I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I didn't ask for that!" 

Then, lead forgotten, she takes me by the hand and we walk side-by-side out into the warm sunny garden where we eat breakfast on the patio where she is seated at a white garden table. My bowl is on the floor at her side and this is where I eat. Unfortunately, Human Beings do not have a muzzle, so eating like this is surprisingly difficult. I get the food plastered over my nose and all around my mouth. My tongue is too short for me to lick myself clean 

Hamsini takes pity on me and wipes me clean and gives me a spoon so that I can finish off.

Afterwards she leads me across the lawn: me walking on al fours like the animal that I now am. The garden is beautiful: it is warmer here because of the surrounding high wall and so experiences an early spring. Flowers are out, I recognize daffodils, but most of the others are strangers to me. I sniff a big purple daisy on the way past, it is exquisite.

My beautiful owner leads me through an archway in a carefully trimmed hedge and then through a hidden gap between two massive hydrangeas. The leaves and blooms gently brush my skin as I pass, I shiver with pleasure.

I find myself in a secluded but romantic arbour: shrubs and trees are all around, shielding it from prying eyes: there is no other way in or out. The space is about twelve feet across and has a chipped bark surface. She tells me that this is her secret place and that no else ever comes here... I find this hard to believe considering that the evidence of a gardener's expert attentions is everywhere. 

Besides the four patio lamps, the only things in the glade are a statue, a swing and a bench that is partly protected by a rustic three-sided shelter. The bench is thickly upholstered in a black leather-like material, it is soft and warm to the touch. I see that Hamsini has prepared for this moment for there is a strap-on lying on the bench. The dildo is green; she tells me that it complements my hair. I am shocked, I have never seen one of those things before, I stare at it wide-eyed in horror but Hamsini only laughs musically. She is laughing at my reaction, not at me.

We sit on the bench and I get a good look at the statue that is also in the secluded little arbour. It is of grey stone and is of a well-endowed girl crouching on all-fours. Her back slopes gently towards us; her ample breasts hang down and her broad arse points in our direction... Her stone pussy is mesmerising and seems to stare invitingly at me.

We kiss and cuddle for twenty or thirty minutes, our explorations of each other's bodies becomes gradually more intimate. She tastes like heaven and is soon as naked as I am. She takes the lead, after all she owns me, I am her pet, I am hers to do with as she wants and in any case I have no human voice to make suggestions: instead I whine and yelp enthusiastically, She calls me her beautiful swan and for some reason I quiver with pleasure at this. During one particular long and intimate kiss she gently pushes me back onto the bench and I feel fingers work their way into my pussy. I twitch and relax as she slides them in and out skilfully. I cum and she breaks the kiss. She removes her fingers and sucks one clean; then she offers the other one to me – I take it into my mouth and savour my own silky juices. I taste sweet and musky with a slight earthy overtone. It is a taste that I will crave from now on.

Hamsini takes the strap-on and buckles on the white leather harness. She stands in front of me, the false member standing at attention at her groin... The green dildo seems to be watching me. I feel threatened... While not exactly a virgin, I lack real experience as far as sex is concerned, the only twice that I had experienced it were not exactly pleasant and both times it hurt like blazes when I let Donald forced his cock into me. He came on both occasions, but I did not and the only orgasms that I had ever enjoyed before I was abducted and given to Hamsini were D-I-Y ones and rather weak.

Now I lie back on the bench, legs open and feet touching the floor, one either side. I look up at my brown angel who seems to tower over me, pert breasts, green cock and all. I am ready, I am waiting, I am filled with both longing and trepidation. I whine hopefully and yelp encouragingly.

She smiles down and then leans over and takes up my lead, gently she pulls me over to the statue... I am mystified... Surely she is not going to fuck that? She smiles again then gently drapes me over the stone girl's back... Only the statue is not stone, it is warm and yielding to the touch like some type of spongy grey plastic. When I am lying belly-down on the girl-figure Hamsini takes my hands and clips my wrist cuffs together under the figures belly and just below its ample breasts.

I look back and smile, spreading my legs as wide as I can. It is going to hurt, I know it is. It always hurts: but if this is what my darling owner wants, then this is what I shall give her. I whine encouragingly: the number of sounds that I am now able to make is strictly limited, whining seems the most appropriate.

Hamsini moves over and stands behind me, between my open legs. She stares at my dripping pussy which must look inviting to her. Yet nothing happens for a minute or so: I begin to get confused, worried even: doesn't she want me? Has she spotted something that repels her, something that she was previously unaware of? If I am not wanted, will her Mother send me away?

Then, after listening to my internal demons for what seems like for ever, she moves my tail to one side and I feel her fingertips softly stroke my labia... She is ever so gentle and I sigh appreciatively: she strokes my pussy for several seconds and then slips a finger in: I quiver and moan.

"So you are ready, my beautiful Swan?" Hamsini asks.

I want to scream: Yes, oh yes, yes, yes! But can do so no longer, instead I whine and moan. 

She withdraws her fingers and I feel something larger being rubbed up and down against my oh, so sensitive pussy-lips, It feels wonderful and I feel my back arch in anticipation as I raise my shoulders and breasts off the girl-figure to which I am secured.

Then the head of the bright green cock is pushed in. It hurts momentarily and I yelp, but then I feel it fill me as Hamsini forces her faux-cock into my pussy. 

The Swan Rider has mounted her Swan for the first time, Now I must take flight and bear us both up on the wings of ecstasy. 

And ride me she does!

She eases forward, stretching me as I have never been stretched before, Her cock is no thicker than Donald's, but it is longer. In it goes and I gasp... Then she begins to slide it out and I sigh. She repeats the process and once more I am filled. She rides me as I am meant to be ridden: she takes it slow at first and the pain is gradually replaced by a feeling of pleasure. Gently she speeds up and also increases the depth of her expert thrusts and soon she is pushing into places where nothing has ever been before. It is a wonderful rhythm... Full – empty – full – empty – full – empty. I find that I am gasping and panting in time to her pelvic thrusts. Soon I can hear her body slapping against my arse as her wonderful thrusts develop power to match the rhythm. Then without realising it, I scream, I have cum!

The Swan-Rider has ridden her Swan to ecstasy. And it is a massive orgasm: much more powerful than anything that I previously experienced. My body spasms and jerks for many seconds. I expect her to stop, but she doesn't and the ride continues. I cum again and again... Two, three, four! I hear my rider scream also and her rhythm goes to pieces for several seconds, but the ride continues... Five! Six! Seven! Each one more powerful than the last... Eight!!! ......!!!! ......!!!!! I lose count: I am not really sentient any longer as wave after wave of raw pleasure slams through my body. I scream, I yelp, I writhe uncontrollably; but then; suddenly – nothing!

I awake, still chained to the figure... The Swan Rider had ridden me until I had lost consciousness. I lie there panting and moaning... weak orgasms continue to ripple through my body like after shocks. "Oh! Oh! Oh!" I sigh in ecstasy. I never really appreciated that I as a woman can experience multiple orgasms nor that I could orgasm so powerfully time and time again! I am grateful to my darling Rider. I know that she came also, for she was shrieking as loudly as I had been and towards the end, the force as she slammed against my arse had been enough to push me forward along the figure's back. Only the statue's breasts had stopped my chained wrists from moving any further.

The Rider releases her Swan and we sit on the ground and hug each other... No, we cling to each other. She mutters endearments into my ear while I whine gently into hers. I realise that my throat is sore; I honestly did not know that I was a screamer: Donald had never given me cause to find out.

We help each other to our feet and kiss. I relax in my Rider's arms and run my fingers through her beautiful hair, The embrace goes on and on. What a site we must have been out there in that sunlit arbour: pale pink skin against golden brown; copper-red hair against glossy black; coral pink nipples against chocolate-brown. A Swan and her Rider.....

Day Twenty-Two – The Rider's Mother

NOTE: The days passed as a blur after my first visit to the arbour. I had the run of the play room, the walled garden and Hamsini's bedroom too, but the rest of the house was off limits too me. You must remember that I was not able to write any of this down until a long time after it had happened. Did I mention the notebook that I found in my Darlings bedroom? No I didn't! I was months into my new life before I stole it from her University briefcase. I use it as a diary. 

Animals may not be able to speak, but at least this Swan can write. I will not mention it again, but it is the only way that I have of recording my wonderful life. I believe that Hamsini knows of its existence, but her Mother does not; thank goodness... If she ever finds out, I am sure that it would be confiscated.

I wake up the morning after the first ride. I awake in Hamsini's bed and not my own. We had an early night as we were both very tired. Hamsini kisses me and tells me that she must return to finish her college course and that on week days I will only see her first thing in the mornings and during the evening. I howl and she hugs me and dries my tears. We shower and I wash her beautiful young body with care... I try to take as long as possible but she slaps my bottom and tells me that I'll make her late for her first class! 

After we have dried each other we eat breakfast on the patio and she leaves me soon after.

It is a long, long day. Her talk of college reminds me of my previous empty life: it must have been empty because I had no Hamsini to love me! And yet I had responsibilities and duties. I taught students, I was Deputy Head of the Humanities Department. I was put-upon, insulted and stressed by my colleagues and students alike. I also had Donald... I shudder: I am better out of it. 

One of the Household Servants brings me a bowl of something for lunch. It smells savoury but I am not hungry, The woman is afraid of me, I can sense it, I can almost smell it. I stare at her and she swears at me. I growl, a low rumbling deep in my throat, and she scuttles out of the playroom by way of the door that is always locked. 

I wonder what I look like to her? Some kind of vicious animal to be feared? A mentally ill woman to be despised? A sex-toy to be used? I laugh quietly, actually I do not care on way or the other. She is nothing to me: a servant at best, or knowing Hamsini's Mother – some kind of domestic slave. I may love women, but she does not count: what with her yellowish doughy face, course features and long mousey hair held back into a ponytail by a brown scrunchy.

Ponytail? How dare she? I look at my own tail and it twitches... My mouth falls open. My beloved tail actually moved on its own! I squeal with excitement and run out into the garden and throw myself onto the lawn where I lie on my back and laugh at the sky. My tail is alive! My tail is alive! I am happy!




Plaything



I hear a noise coming from the white room. Hamsini's Mother calls out. "Hansa? Hansa? Come here please!"

I hesitate, then scuttle in on all fours... I do not wish to upset this woman... The fact that she frightens me does not matter for she controls the household and could send me away if she so wished. This is why I always behave meekly when she is around.

I peek around the door and hesitate at the sight that I see. The servant is sitting in an armchair peering at me and "Mother" is standing in the middle of the room with a stern expression on her face. 

"Are there you are, you bad girl!" She chides me and adds, "Come here!" And points at the floor in front of her.

I crawl over to her, for some reason I let my head hang low. The servant is watching, an evil leer plastered across her pasty face.

Hamsini's Mother stares down at me and I avoid her gaze. "You are a bad girl!" She snaps. "You will not grown at servants!"

I squirm... I now know what a repentant dog feels like. Suddenly my bladder twitches and I dribble drops of urine onto the floor.

She chuckles. "Well, I can tell that you are sorry, but..." She spins around and grabs my tail with one hand. "...this will help you remember!"

I receive one, two, three, four open handed slaps hard on the cheeks of my bottom. I yelp, more in surprise than pain. I try to scuttle away but she grips my tail... I CAN FEEL IT! I can feel her hand holding my tail. I let go a whoop of joy which puzzles her.

"Stay!" She snaps, then she bends low and I hear her mutter: "You'll like the next bit."

I look up and see her walk over to the servant, who was still sitting in the chair. "There," she says to the woman, "she's not vicious, she's a sweety, really and she won't growl at you again!"

The woman laughs at me and thanks Hamsini's Mother who smiles gently at her. Then her whole manner changes and she begins to shout and scream. "But you, you repulsive bitch, you swore at her! I will not tolerate that. She is my daughter's pet: I will not have you, or anyone else abusing her either mentally or physically. I own you: remember that and if you ever cause me to have to punish Hansa again, then you will find yourself serving my family in a less comfortable role than that of maid. Do you understand, you worthless piece of shit?"

The maid is cowering in the chair now and makes no attempt to resist when 'Mother' grabs her hair and hauls her to her feet. She then spins the hapless woman over the arm of the chair, flips up her skirt and pulls off her grubby panties. She removes her own leather belt and proceeds to administer a merciless beating. 'Crack', 'crack', 'crack'. The maid screams, and wriggles, but the blows rain down. After ten she stops. The woman is now crying uncontrollably and her arse is bright red and criss-crossed with swollen wields, but 'Mother' hasn't finished with her yet.

As she hesitantly tries to leave, 'Mother' grabs her, scoops up the dirty panties and stuffs them into her mouth. "If I ever catch you wearing filthy clothes again: it will be the worse for you!" She snarls... "Now get out of my sight!"

Mother walks over to me: she is completely calm, in fact I doubt that she ever lost her temper... The maid scuttles out sobbing and Mother gently strokes my hair. She kisses the top of my head. "Now be a good pet and don't growl at people again." She chides gently

I look up at her and whine in what I hope sounds a repentant tone. I can see where Hamsini gets her beauty from, but Mother has a hard ruthless layer under hers that her daughter completely lacks.

She strokes my hair again and then runs a hand slowly along my mane and onto my tail which she lets run through her fingers. "Do you know," she confides, "the research that made you possible cost me over two million pounds?"

I gasp and she repeats her fondling and carries on talking to me. "At this very moment, skin from your scalp is being cultured and when they have grown several square feet of it, the stripe down your back will be widened and the fleshy part of your tail will be thickened and extended. We are aiming for about six inches long by about two inches thick. The whole of the back of your neck will become part of your scalp also. Won't that be wonderful?"

She runs her hand down my back one more time, only this time I think that I am beginning to feel the hair moving. She caresses my pussy then pats me on the bottom before walking out of my playroom and is gone without saying 'goodbye'.

For the rest of the afternoon, I pick at my food and then doze in my basket

When Hamsini returns from college later that day, I throw myself at her with such force that I knock her off her feet. She sits on the floor laughing as I kiss and lick her face and hug her tightly.

"Oh, wow!" She laughs. "Anyone would think that I had been away for days. Are you that pleased to see me then, my pet?"

I whine, yelp and wriggle. I even wet myself in my excitement; I am behaving in exactly the same way that my pet dog used too when I myself came home from school when I was a child.

Hamsini, my wonderful Rider, laughs happily and hugs me back. "Oh, Hansa, my darling beautiful Swan, we'll be friends for ever!"

NOTE: The Earth continued to turn and day and night followed each other. I suspect that things happened outside in the rest of the house, but I was unaware of them. As for the rest of the world, well the only affect that it had on me was to rob me of my beloved Hamsini for the best part of five days out of every seven. I became resolved to this but I never liked it... I was always edgy when she was at college. Most days I only saw one of the domestic servants who brought me food or cleaned up after me or made Hamsini's bed or cleaned her room. There were several of them, all female: most tried to ignored me while the bitch who got me spanked was positively terrified of me. However one girl, and I think that she was even younger than me. always made a fuss of me. She was tall and blonde and definitely not British or Irish. Her name was Anika, or so she told me when she stroked my hair or mane. I liked her and would whine and rub myself against her, which made her laugh. She was always nice to me.

When she is home, Hamsini and I are inseparable. Only a year ago having sex with another woman would be unthinkable but now it is a major part of my life...

Day Fifty-Five – Storm Clouds

It is now high summer and the weather is hot, I do not know the day for sure, or even the month as these have lost all meaning for me, even as labels. Hamsini has completed her 'A' Level exams and finished with college: I see much more of her, which makes me happy. Some days she goes out, but I am separated from her for less time than when she is away at college. This relaxes me and removes my fears and worries as I only live for my darling Swan-Rider.

Today starts off wonderfully it is late morning and she is wearing a skimpy bikini and we are both lying on our bellies out on the grass soaking up the sun's rays. Suddenly she rolls to face me and says something totally unexpected.

"Oh, Hansa, I will miss you when I go to University." Her face is sad.

I sit up and howl in shock. Then I stare at her, eyes and mouth wide.

"Don't take it like that, my beautiful Swan! It won't be for ever... I will be home during the holidays!"

Weeks and weeks without my beloved owner?! I cling to her and howl and howl and howl. Tears flood my eyes and run down my cheeks as I cry uncontrollably. I should have been expecting this, but wasn't!

Hamsini strokes my hair and tries to console me. She hugs me and whispers: "There, there," into my ear.

I want to say: Take me with you! but obviously can't. All that comes out is: "Oww, ah ow!" Then I whine: "Hmm, hmm, hmm, hmm..."

I break free and run screaming into the shrubbery where I hide and sob.

Presently I hear someone else join Hamsini in our garden. I listen.

"What is all the noise?" A familiar Indian-accented voice demands rather sternly. "Is it not enough that you both are screamers? We have guests, or had you forgotten?"

I am frightened that I have got my owner into trouble with her Mother so I begin to crawl out of my hiding place.

Hamsini sounds contrite. "I am truly sorry, Mother, but I told Hansa that I was going away to University and it upset her."

What I heard next caused me to freeze and remain hidden.

"So why did you tell her? She is not important!" Her Mother snapped. "You speak about her as if she matters!"

"She matters to me!" Hamsini flares back in my defence. "I love her and she loves me!"

"Ha! You have become far too close to that mindless creature. It is merely an animal that I provided you with so that you had something convenient and hygienic to use to relieve yourself: not to become romantically involved with!" The older woman's voice was cold and harsh.

"Mother!" My Darling shouted... This was the only time that I ever hear her shout at the woman.

"Hamsini! I have raised you to take your place in helping me manage the family enterprises, just like your sisters are now doing! I provided you with a plaything so that you could have sex without the need of romantic entanglements with strangers and all of the complications and risks that that would involve. I thought that I had trained you well enough to avoid love and all of the damage it does.Love is a destructive force, a weakness that we are better off without. 

"So what do you do? You fall in love with your pet!" The tirade chills me to the bone. But the woman continues. "I did not raise you to be soft – what's gotten into your silly head?"

"I'm eighteen, Mother, I'm an adult: I'll do what I want from now on! Hansa and I will leave if you try to separate us!" Hamsini shouts

I creep on my belly to the edge of the shrubbery and get where I can see them both. I am ready to fly to my owner's defence if she is threatened with violence. I see the two on them standing about a couple of feet apart. Hamsini shouting, shaking and waving her arms as she gesticulates wildly. Her Mother stands there calmly facing her... She is frighteningly calm and reminds me of an iceberg in many ways.

"Oh? And how will the two of you manage? No money, no job and nowhere to live? While you are dependent upon me and live in my house, you will follow my rules. But I am not a monster I would never separate you from your pet!"

I relax when I hear this, I see Hamsini relax also as neither of us look beneath the surface of Mother's words. 

NOTE added in the margin: She is telling the truth... Oh, but she is and we are still together years later.

"I'm sorry, Mummy," Hamsini says contritely. "Perhaps if she went away to University and lived with me?"

Her Mother looked as if she had been struck, but she relaxed quickly and walked over and hugged her daughter. "Oh, my darling! Well you always were the sentimental softy. I should have realised that it would lead you to fall in love sooner or later, Perhaps it is better with your pet than with an outsider..." She kissed her daughter on the top of her head and then fondled her breast. "Let me think for a minute..."

I can see it all from behind the bush where I am now lying. My Hamsini and her Mother are locked in an embrace She cannot see her Mother's face which hardens into a thin-lipped cold, vicious expression even as she hugs her daughter and caresses her gently. She does not know that I am watching, or if she does she is so contemptuous of me that she does not bother to spare me a glance. It is a hard expression, a frightening expression. The expression of one who will stop at nothing to remain in total control. I vow not to cross this terrible woman no matter what happens. The cold brown eyes are those of a one who measures the value of human life by the profit that it can bring her... And this is the woman that holds my future in her callous hands!

I shudder and wriggle back into deeper cover, then I fight my way through the thicket of bushes until I am in the little romantic arbour where I sit on the floor behind the bench in the little lean-too shelter, hug my knees and and shiver despite the warmth of the summer morning. I am determined to hide from that monster for as long as I can.

Some considerable time later I hear Hamsini calling me, but I do not move... Her Mother may still be there. 

She calls again and wonders out loud why I am hiding from her... Oh my beloved Swan-Rider, it is not you that I am hiding from.

Presently, I hear her enter our glade. She spots me cowering in the back of the shelter. "Oh, my Swan. Why are you hiding?"

I jump up and fling my arms around her. I am still shaking as I cling tightly to her. She hugs me back. Presently I feel her fingers running through my mane. I whimper pathetically.

"Oh, Hansa, did my Mother frighten you?" She sighs.

I nod... I no longer have the power of speech, but I can still communicate. The nod is a frantic one.

"But there is no problem: Mummy has agreed to invest in a house and give me a car and a maid. That way I can take you with me, my daring pet!" She is very happy, she has won.

I still do not relax, I do not trust that woman. As she leads me back to the patio so that we can eat, I am still not convinced of Mother's motives.

Just as I am finishing my bowl of korma, I hear a hear a pair of high heels click-click-clicking across the playroom floor and out onto the patio, I look up and see an older version of Hamsini; one with shorter business-like hair and dark clothing: a black satin blouse, black skin tight trousers, and shiny black high-heeled boots. Her expression is hard, even though she is smiling. The smile reminds me of a cat who has just seen the family budgerigar.

Hamsini is happy to see her, though and calls out: "Hi, Devya! I didn't know that you were the visitor!"

The hard smile broadens. "Hallo, little Sister. Mother told me about your new pet so I have come to see it." Her voice is without warmth as she looks at me. "Oh, wow, you have a good eye! It is very beautiful creature!"

I am an "It" in her eyes so I scramble backwards in an attempt to get away, but Hamsini grabs my lead that she had reattached earlier. This stops my retreat as I am unwilling to use my greater strength and pull her off her chair.

Devya, whose name I later learn means "Divine Power", laughs unsympathetically at my reaction and demands: "Make it stand up so that I can get a better look at it."

Hamsini begins to act out of character. She stands up and jerks my lead harshly to encourage me to stand. I do so as I do not want her to face her sister's scorn if I do not comply.

I stand and straighten up. Devya stares at me and walks slowly around me. She squeezes a breast, but not lovingly. In fact she makes me wince, which causes her to laugh.

She feels my arse and then slaps it so hard that her hand stings. I jump forward and she also finds this funny. Then the fact that I have a tail registers and she grabs it and gives it a tug. She is so heavy handed that she comes away with some of its long hairs in her hand. I squeal and again she laughs at my reaction. Lastly she sticks fingers into my arsehole and my pussy. She has long fingernails and is none too gentle. I wriggle with discomfort and yelp.

"Oh, very good: does it fuck well?" This foul woman demands.

By now Hamsini is more than a little put out, but does not complain. Instead she just nods. I suspect that Devya has been bullying her for as long as she can remember: no doubt with their Mother's knowledge.

Devya is clearly pleased with the affect that she has produced in both of us, and by now I am sure that she is going to demand to fuck me, for that is all that it would be, brutal, mechanical fucking. No love, no tenderness in fact something akin to rape.

I am lucky for she laughs coldly. "Oh, I must talk to Mother... I have to get me a pair of these for my very own!"

Yes, I am lucky, but I shudder at the thought of the hell that awaits some poor, unsuspecting women, currently living out their lives in the blissful ignorance of the brutal fate awaiting them.

However, she has not finished with me yet. I see her sniff the finger that she pushed up my bottom. Her perfect nose wrinkles in an approximation of the expression that is so appealing on my darling's face: but on hers it is distasteful. Then, quite casually she pushes the soiled finger into my mouth for me to suck clean. I comply because I do not want to embarrass Hamsini.

This is followed by the one that she had forced into my dry pussy. I cannot keep the expression of hatred off my face. As she withdraws the clean finger, she laughs at my helplessness. "Yes, for once I envy you, Hambone! I will definitely get me a couple of these things, I can think of lots of ways to use them... lots of games to play."

She walks back into the house without further comment, but we can hear her chuckling as she goes.

Later in the afternoon, Hamsini applies traditional Indian make-up and changes into a beautiful blue and gold sari. She tells me that she will be having dinner with her Mother and Sister I do not see my beloved rider for the remainder of the day and that night I sleep alone. I curl up in my basket and play with myself... The orgasms, when I eventually cum, are weak and hardly worth the effort!

Day Fifty-Six – The Wild Animal.

I do not see Hamsini until mid-morning: her make-up is smudged and it looks as if she has been crying.. She shrugs off the sari and leaves the expensive garment lying crumpled on the bedroom floor: she is naked underneath it.

We walk into the shower and I begin to bathe her wonderful body. I see scratches down her back, bite marks on her neck and shoulders and a couple of bruises on her arms. As I gently soap her body I see that there are painful wields across her arse and her pussy is red, swollen and clearly hurts for she winces when I touch it.

Suddenly she bursts into tears and hugs me to her. She squeezes me far more tightly than normal as she sobs uncontrollably.

I hold her and stroke her wet hair as she cries and cries. The sobs become explosive and she clings to me as if her life depends upon it. I nuzzle her ear and lick it but she does not notice.

Suddenly the sobs become words, or rather one continuous long screamed word. "I-hate-her-I-hate-her-I-hate-her-I-hate-that-fucking-bitch!" She runs out of breath and begins to sob again. Suddenly she becomes a dead weight and I support her as gently as I can. She is still clinging to me and her face is pressed against my shoulder but her legs seem to have given out. Oh, Hamsini, what do I do?

Gently I get her out of the shower and we sink down onto the dressing room floor. I intend to dry her, but she won't loose me. Still the room is warm so my beloved will not catch a chill. Well, drying can wait so I carry on hugging her and whining gently into her ear just to remind her that it is me that she is with. Eventually she recovers enough to look at me and give me a weak smile.

"Oh, my darling Swan, what would I do without you?" She asks and then kisses me gently on the lips.

I reach for towels and begin to dry us off. She thanks me.

By now it is nearly lunchtime, but I am more concerned for her than I am for my own stomach. I take her hand and lead her out through the playroom and into the garden, she comes along meekly not bothering that she too is naked. I lead her into our arbour and we sit on the upholstered bench, arms around each other both of us staring at the statue's backside without seeing it. For the moment our roles are reversed and she is the submissive, vulnerable one. I think about her horrible brute of a Sister: I had thought that the Mother was bad but Devya is far worse because she is brutal as well as callous.




Plaything



The only sound to be heard was the sound of their ragged breathing.

"Wow," Allegra murmured after several long minutes of peace. There was a dreamy kind of quality to her voice.

Parker said again, "You're a hot little bitch, Allegra. You might just be my best fuck ever."

Allegra inched her head around to look at him with a beautiful smile on her face, then her eyes narrowed. "Better than the underwear model?" she asked in a dangerous tone.

"Of course," he told her.

"Better than Cassidy Carter?" she continued.

"She's a bitch," he replied honestly.

"Better than that slut from your boat?" she asked.

Parker grinned. "Much better," he admitted. "She won't even let me fuck her ass."

Allegra wiggled her butt just a bit and cum bubbled out of her asshole once more. "Takes a special kind of girl for that," she teased.

"Oh, yes," he told her.

And so they chatted quietly as they lounged in the afterglow of their orgasms, their bodies relaxing after the physical exertion of their frenzied fuck session, but it would only be a matter of time before they grew restless yet again.

* * *

Eleanor Wentworth was in her quarters arranging some necessary documents for the monthly restocking of the Allegra when she received the call: the girl and her guest were hungry. Eleanor harrumphed, knowing as most of the crew on board did exactly what kind of activity had perked up their appetites. She rose to her feet and headed for the stairs, and when she reached the main deck she found Tamara waiting for her in the galley. 

Tamara Dahl was a beautiful young woman of twenty-eight years and the Crew Liaison on board the ship, which meant she orchestrated the smooth operation of the vessel from a logistical standpoint as well as handled much of the land communication. Also, when there were guests on board, she was their personal aide ala an executive assistant. She had long dark red hair and dark green eyes, and her features held a hint of the exotic, the benefits of a slight Brazilian heritage.

"She wants sushi again," Tamara said with an apologetic look. Sushi was the hardest thing to make and, not surprisingly, Allegra Widmore wanted it often.

Eleanor sighed. She was the stewardess for the yacht, which meant she tended to housekeeping duties and also acted as the cook. She was trained in all manner of food preparation, which was essential when dealing with a girl as flighty as Allegra.

"Alright," Eleanor said as she rolled up her sleeves. "There's work to do."

Tamara looked down at the floor. "There's more," she said in a meek voice. 

This was not going to be good, Eleanor knew. "What happened?" she asked in a soothing voice.

"The land office called," the young woman revealed. "Allegra neglected to tell us her high school classes start tomorrow."

Eleanor sighed again. "Have you informed the captain?"

Tamara nodded. "He's setting course for Los Angeles now. The crew has been contacted. We'll have to finish the Catalina rounds this coming weekend."

Several members of the crew were enjoying some needed time off on the island of Catalina and had been told they would have at least a couple of days. They would not be happy when they returned to the ship.

"We'll manage," Eleanor said with a hand on Tamara's shoulder. "And it is not our job to look after the schedule of Allegra Widmore beyond the boundaries of the yacht. There are others responsible for that, or herself for that matter. We are responsible for her while she is on board, and on board only."

Tamara smiled and hugged the older woman. The two had always had a very good relationship, very much akin to mother and daughter. Eleanor had no children of her own and Tamara's own mother had passed away many years earlier; both counted on the support of the other, and often.

"I'll deal with the crew," the younger woman said with renewed confidence.

Eleanor replied, "I'll deal with the girl."

Which is how she found herself en route to the sky lounge, where Allegra and her guest, the rather infamous young playboy Parker Wellington, were probably making themselves drinks despite both of their being underage. She stopped just beyond the swinging door entrance and listened to the conversation coming from within.

"Bored," the boy was saying. "B-O-R-E-D."

Allegra scoffed. "What do you mean? We've had a great time today."

"The exception proves the rule, sweetness," he said. "You still have school to occupy your time. I'd have to go to college for more of that and that is certainly not going to happen. I have nothing to occupy my thoughts these days. I'm bored."

There was silence as Allegra considered. "Buy yourself something," she recommended helpfully.

Parker sighed. "There's no fun in just buying whatever I want," he said.

"So you want something you've never had before, is that it? Something that you can't buy for yourself with money?"

Parker shrugged. "Pretty much," he admitted.

Allegra rolled her eyes. "No wonder you're bored," she told him.

And Eleanor used that particular moment to enter the room and inquire about what kinds of sushi the two were expecting, and also to let Allegra Widmore know that the jig was up and she would be going to school the next day. The girl took the news far better than Eleanor had expected she would, actually, so the experience was not too bad.

In fact, the girl did not even throw a single thing.

Part Two: An Unlikely Friendship

It was the first day of her senior year and Danielle Rosen knew nobody, which is what you got when you moved from your small suburban neighborhood in Ventura County to the fast-paced and ritzy surroundings of West Los Angeles and found yourself smack dab in the middle of one of the most prestigious high schools in the city, maybe even the country.

Four periods had passed thus far and the people had been very nice to her, yes, but she still felt overwhelmed and out of place. The lunch period brought more of the same: she moved into the cafeteria and looked around for the emptiest table she could find.

She never found it. "Want to sit here with us, Danielle?" she heard someone say, and she looked around and saw four very pretty girls seated at a nearby table: three blondes and a brunette. There was an open space between two of them.

"Me?" she asked hesitantly. She had always been a little bit timid around new people.

One of the blondes nodded. "Of course, silly," the girl said playfully. She was the one who had spoken before, too. Danielle vaguely recognized her from one of her classes earlier that day. "Come over here and sit with us."

Danielle approached hesitantly: she had no idea what to expect from the students of such a school. There were exaggerated examples of wealthy southern California high school kids sprayed all across movies and television. She feared the worst.

"Hi," the same girl said pleasantly. She had long blonde hair and light gray eyes, which was quite striking up close and very beautiful. It was also obvious her figure was attractive, too. "Your name is Danielle, right? My name is Jennifer Taylor."

"Hi," Danielle answered, relaxing a bit. It didn't seem too bad, actually.

"I'm Susan," said the only brunette of the bunch, seated to her immediate right. She had big brown eyes and a lovely face. "Pleased to meet you, Danielle. You're very pretty."

Danielle blushed. "Thank you," she murmured as her eyes lowered. She always felt awkward receiving compliments, although she managed to receive them quite a bit: long natural blonde hair, bright green eyes, an attractive face and a nice body tended to have that effect.

"What a cutie," said another one of the blondes with a smile on her face. She had shoulder-length blonde hair and bright blue eyes. "She's blushing. I like this one, girls. I'm Jennifer, by the way. Jennifer Paulson. Although the girls just call me Jenny."

"And I'm Jen or Jennifer," said Jennifer Taylor. "It makes it much easier."

Danielle nodded and turned to the last girl, seated to her immediate left, who was not smiling. She did not seem too excited at all, actually, and for a moment Danielle was worried she had done something wrong.

"I'm Hannah," the last girl said without enthusiasm of any kind.

The other girls giggled and Danielle knew she was missing something.

Hannah sighed. "Fine," she said curtly to the other girls before she turned back to Danielle with an apologetic smile. "Sorry. They are all excited because I have to tell you my name. My full name, that is. It's Hannah Montane, which was an awesome name until that freakin' Disney show made that idiotic Cyrus kid a household name. It drives me crazy because everywhere I go I get the same crap about it and these sluts here think it's hilarious."

Danielle smiled soothingly, more due to her own relief than anything else, and said, "I think it's a lovely name." She decided not to mention that Hannah also happened to look a little bit like Hannah Montana with long straight platinum blonde hair and dark soulful eyes.

Hannah nodded once, firmly, and lifted her chin in the air. "It is," she said emphatically. "This is a smart one, girls."

Susan said suddenly and excitedly, "Danielle, before you arrived we were talking about boys. More specifically, we were wondering which Jennifer's boyfriend is hotter: Jen's boyfriend, Dylan, or Jenny's boyfriend, Jeremy."

"She doesn't know either of them," observed Hannah. "How is she supposed to have an opinion?"

Danielle looked over at the two Jennifers and realized neither was too happy about the line of conversation. Hannah and Susan, however, seemed to be really enjoying themselves.

"We'll point out Dylan to her and judge her reaction," Susan suggested, "then point out some other guy who looks like Jeremy and judge that reaction. She can be the deciding vote."

Hannah did not like that idea and her response only confirmed what Danielle had guessed: the blonde was for Jeremy, while the brunette was all about Dylan.

In the end nothing was settled, although Danielle did get a peek at Dylan Adams, who was just as hot as Susan had said. She was curious to see Jeremy, too, but most of her thoughts had nothing to do with either boy: she was happy to have found some decent people at the school on her very first day.

And she was excited to meet more of them.

* * *

There were three things students said about math teacher Irma Vince: she was old, she was mean and she was unabashedly against stylish fashion trends. The last of those things was the only one Irma herself agreed with: she so vehemently opposed improper fashion, which seemed to turn up in spades among the younger generation these days, that she had long ago taken to carrying around detention slips for the sole purpose of enforcing the school's rather lax dress code. It was not unusual for students to relay word of her coming down the hallways of Rembrandt school in a rather remarkable show of unity to protect one another from her merciless eye. 

Girls bore the brunt of her censure, of course. She chafed when the cheerleaders wore their uniforms to school. Deplorable! She fumed when girls strutted around in outfits more suited for adult dancers. Despicable! Too much stomach? Detention. Skirt too high? Detention. Too much cleavage? Detention. Thong or bra visible? Detention. These were the things she hated more than anything else in the world.

Which is why when she saw Allegra Widmore seated on a bench with two of her friends, chittering and chattering about this and that, Irma very nearly had an apoplexy. 

The girl was wearing a pair of silk pink panties rimmed with lace. How did Irma know? The girl's skirt was so short her panties were clearly visible to anyone, male or female, student or teacher, walking by. Absolutely unpardonable!

She opened her mouth and tried to shriek, but no words came out. She was speechless! She looked around angrily and noticed two male teachers seated at a table nearby: Dale Horton and Douglas Center, literature teachers. Both were staring with seedy little grins in the direction of Allegra Widmore.

"Really!" the old woman squawked and the heads of the men whipped towards her instantly, then lowered sheepishly. She would not regard them further, she decided! Disgraceful for men of their age to be ogling the young girl, no matter how she was dressed. And a student, no less! 

"Hmmph!" the woman grunted, and then in a piercing voice, she cried, "Allegra Wid-MORE!"

The girl and her two friends, Kaitlyn White and Blair Alderan, jumped in their seats and looked around, and when the trio saw her glaring at them, stomping towards them with firm resolve engraved in deep grooves on her face, they rolled their eyes and braced for the worst. 

And they should brace for it! She was appalled!

"Miss Widmore!" Irma said angrily as she reached them, waving a finger in the air. "That outfit is simply unacceptable. I had hoped after all the troubles you gave me last year would have helped you turn a corner. I can see I was terribly mistaken! Stand up!"

The girl rolled her eyes and sighed. "There's nothing wrong with my outfit, Mrs. Vince," she complained. "It's totally fine, alright? It's Fred Segal."

Vince was not amused and hated lip. "It is not alright," she retorted shrilly. "And I do not know who this Fred Segal person is, but I'm sure he would not approving of what you are wearing!"

"Uh, Fred Segal is a clothing store," the girl said in that sassy way that made it clear she thought Irma was clueless.

"Well, Miss Widmore," Irma said in a cold voice, "I'm not sure you were aware of it in your bubble of teenage ignorance, but your panties were showing!"

The girl grinned. "I know, Mrs. Vince," she whispered. She nodded in the direction of the two male teachers and winked. Her friends giggled again.

Irma was flabbergasted and her jaw fell open. The girl knew she was being watched and did nothing about it. Why, she even encouraged it! She was teasing her adult teachers by showing them her undergarments! Scandalous! When she composed herself and spoke, her voice was replete with scarcely controlled outrage. 

"Detention, Miss Widmore," she hissed through gritted teeth, and that wiped the grins off the faces of the girls, "through the end of the week, and if I catch you behaving with such apparent disregard for decency and propriety again, you will be suspended. Is that clear?"

The girl nodded sullenly.

Irma stomped away, feeling better already: perhaps THAT would teach the girl a lesson!

* * *

It had been such a wonderful day Danielle Rosen almost did not want it to end. First, there had been the lunch hour with Jennifer, Jennifer, Susan and Hannah, all of whom were nice girls (if a touch popular elitist). Then she had met two more girls, Katherine and Carolyn, who were beautiful and smart and funny, and very nice. The three were grouped together in biology class for the first round of projects, which would last over a month.

And now she was walking with the principal, who was not the normal kind of principal but rather an attractive woman named Addison Cross. She could not have been older than thirty-five and was really quite lovely with long brown hair, cool blue eyes and gorgeous features.

"Mister Baines is our Assistant Dean of Students," the woman was saying as they walked. It was after school and Danielle had met with the principal for the first time in a pre-scheduled meeting. "He also acts, however, as an informal counselor for the students. He is available to talk about anything you wish to talk about, if you need him."

They entered one of the classroom buildings and stopped before the first door on the left. The principal knocked and waited for response, and as she did so she turned to Danielle.

"I'm very happy you've joined us, Danielle," she said with a smile. 

The door opened to reveal a tall man with a thin beard and a muscular frame standing behind it. He smiled. Danielle wondered fleetingly if all administrators were as attractive as the two displayed before her. 

"Hello, ladies," he said amiably. Danielle noticed there were a few students in desks inside the class behind him, which was strange since school was over.

"Milo," the principal said with a nod, "this is Danielle Rosen. Danielle, this is Milo Baines, our Assistant Dean. Milo, I leave her in your very capable hands."

"Thank you, Addison," he said, and then turned all his attention to Danielle as the principal walked away. "Come on in and let's have a chat, shall we?"

* * *

Detention was the biggest waste of time ever.

Allegra Widmore was growing restless and it had only been fifteen minutes. She was supposed to remain there for an hour, which would be agonizing. How she was supposed to manage, she had no idea, especially considering cell phones and sidekicks and technology of any kind were not allowed. What should we give to be back on her boat . . . 

She did not plan on going to college. Her mother and her father were trying to impress upon her the value of education, which was just a little hypocritical as neither one of them had gone to college and they had done just fine. But graduation from high school was a trust fund requirement, which meant she had to wither away in class and (sometimes) in detention. It was incredibly beneath her. She did not pay one iota of attention to anything or anyone.

That is, until Mister Baines rose from his seat and answered the knock on the door, and ushered into the room a delectable little piece of ass named Danielle something-or-other. Allegra was not really paying attention to the name as the teacher introduced the girl: she was admiring the girl's tight body and gorgeous face, and wondering if she might be persuaded to experiment.

"This is the detention group, Danielle," the teacher said in a voice that spoke of vast amusement, waving a hand at the crowd. There were nineteen students at the desks. "Now I know what you're asking: how do so many students wind up in detention on the first day?"

The girl was quite obviously shy, which intrigued Allegra further, and shook her head. "No, sir," she replied timidly.

Mister Baines grinned. "Class?" he asked. "How many of you fell afoul of our dear Lady Vince today?"

The students groaned as one collective voice and sixteen of them raised their hands. Allegra was surprised one teacher had given so many detentions on the first day, but did not dwell on the sensation: the girl occupied her thoughts.

"This is Danielle Rosen, people," the teacher continued with a nod. "She is new to the school and has not yet had the pleasure of meeting our resident fashion policewoman. Would anyone like to give her the 4-1-1?"

Sufficed to say Allegra was not usually the type of girl to get involved in class. She rarely studied and thus got average-to-poor grades, but did not care about school in any event because (as stated) her family was rich, she was beautiful and that was what was important. She would do enough to graduate and nothing more. But the opportunity to get to know the shy and timid and therefore manipulatable girl before her, coupled with a growing sense of a brilliant idea in the back of her mind, caused her to raise her hand.

It was obvious she was not what Mister Baines had expected. "Miss Widmore," he said with a mixture of confusion and amusement on his face. "Are you actually volunteering for something that doesn't involve personal gain?" 

Allegra smiled. "Yes, Mister Baines," she said sweetly.

The man nodded, impressed, then grinned. "Well, good for you," he said, "because you win the grand prize. Pack up your things, Allegra, and escort Danielle back to her car. You can fill her in on what to wear (or more fittingly in your case, I suppose, on what not to wear) on the way."

And in that moment Danielle Rosen and Allegra Widmore made eye contact for the first time, beautiful bright greens with beautiful bright blues, and while both of the girls smiled pleasantly at one another, the thoughts of the former were reflective of the expression, while the thoughts of the latter were quite devious and wicked, and deliciously dirty. 




Plaything



* * *

The whirlwind day had to end sooner or later, Danielle knew, and when she floated through the door of her house and saw her grandmother sitting on the couch with tender eyes and a pleasant smile, she sighed and floated further over to join the woman.

"Have a nice day?" her grandmother asked with a grin.

The dreamy smile on Danielle's face told the whole story. "Oh, yes!" she said excitedly. "I met so many wonderful people today. Some really good girls, you know?"

The older woman nodded. "It's nice to connect with people, isn't it?"

"Yes," Danielle breathed. "One of the girls I met even asked me to hang out with her this weekend." She giggled, then added, "On her yacht."

And Margaret Rosen, who was a practical woman and had never been someone of great means, instantly worried for the well-being of her granddaughter. 

Danielle's parents were deceased and Margaret had been raising the girl herself for nearly five years, living off the parental life insurance money, and while they had not been poor nor lacking necessities, Danielle had never experienced the wealthier lifestyle. Margaret knew her admittance to Rembrandt, an affluent and prestigious private high school, would put her in the path of the young and the rich, but she did not think her indoctrination would happen so soon.

"Her yacht?" the older woman asked.

Danielle could not stop smiling. "Yes," the girl replied, "apparently it's quite large. Her name is Allegra and she seems really nice. And beautiful, oh my gosh! She's gorgeous! She wants me to spend the night Friday and Saturday. She said something about sailing to Catalina."

Margaret was still concerned. "Who else will be on the boat? Will her parents be there?"

Danielle shrugged. "I don't know," she replied honestly. "I was so happy that I didn't think to ask. She gave me her number and told me to call her if it was ok with you. I told her I still had to ask you about it."

Margaret smiled: Danielle truly was a good girl. She was kind and warm and smart and funny, and beautiful to boot. There was a great deal of trust between them. "You may go," the older woman decided, "as long as there will not be any boys on board and as long as you are supervised, and as long as the boat is safe."

Danielle grinned and threw her arms around her grandmother. The two embraced warmly. "Thank you!" she squealed, and then she jumped up and with a quick goodbye, dashed up the stairs to her room.

Margaret smiled as she watched her go, but the little voice in the back of her mind was wondering if she had made the right decision.

* * *

Allegra had just finished with her personal yoga instructor when her cell phone buzzed to trumpet its reception of a new text message.

"Thank you, Hans," Allegra said as she cupped the sculpted buttocks of the six foot four plus Hungarian and squeezed it tight. The man took her fondling without complaint.

"Miss Widmore," he said with heavily accented words. He nodded obediently and left the room.

Allegra flipped open her phone and clicked open the text, which she realized with delight was from Danielle Rosen, the innocent young beauty she met at school earlier that day. It read: gram said yes as long as parents there and no boys, ok?

It was sad Parker was not there to see the wicked spread across her face. There would be too much fun to be had this weekend, she could hardly contain herself. She texted back: great cant wait see you tomorrow. 

And Allegra Widmore, who was not above a little fabrication when it suited her needs, turned right around and called Parker Wellington, who had a few things to pick up in advance of their weekend revelry.

* * *

Tamara Dahl waited patiently at the dock on Friday afternoon for Allegra and her guest to arrive. It was her job to ensure the guest was kept happy and that Allegra received everything she needed, which basically meant when the girl was on board it was Tamara's job to facilitate the fulfillment of her every whim and wish.

When Allegra was off the ship, her job was one of the best around: sun and sea and travel and an excellent salary. When the ship was occupied, her job was at best only passable and often times kind of sucked. She very much hoped this weekend would prove one of the passable times.

The black limousine rolled up and the driver (Jenkins was his name) got out and came around to open the door. Allegra Widmore stepped gracefully out of the car, followed by her friend.

Tamara was surprised: the two girls were a study in opposites. Where Allegra was wearing a short-skirt and tight-shirt combo that revealed ample amounts of her skin, the other girl was wearing a pair of jeans and a sweater-shirt that only showed an inch of stomach. Where Allegra wore an expensive pair of sunglasses several sizes too large for her face, the other girl wore an understated pair of glasses that were likely less expensive than a long-distance phone call. Where Allegra carried a Louis Vuitton purse valued at several thousand dollars, the other girl had some kind of handbag Tamara thought she remembered seeing at Target. The only thing they shared, in fact, was their blonde hair and beauty.

Who was this new girl, she thought, and what was Allegra Widmore doing with her?

"Hello, Tamara," Allegra said as they approached. The words themselves were nice enough, but it was the way the girl always said hello to her that rankled Tamara, as if the greeting was little more than formality before the giving of orders.

For that reason, Tamara waited a brief instant (the instant when Allegra usually announced what she would instantly be needing brought to her or prepared for her) before she nodded her head respectfully and replied, "Welcome back, Miss Widmore."

Allegra latched onto the arm of her friend. "This is Danielle," she cooed. "Isn't she gorgeous?"

Tamara smiled kindly. "Yes, she is," she agreed. "Hello, Danielle. My name is Tamara. I'm the executive assistant on board the ship. Please let me know if you need anything, anything at all." She turned to face the eighteen year-old who was (technically) her boss. "Will Danielle be staying in the starboard stateroom then?"

Allegra giggled. "No, silly!" she exclaimed. "This is a girl bonding weekend! She'll stay with me in my suite."

Which explained quite a bit, as far as Tamara was concerned. "If that is all, girls," she said. "Miss Widmore, you know how to reach me should you require further assistance."

"Have Nicholas fire up the Jacuzzi and keep it warm all weekend ," Allegra instructed. "We're planning to work out so tell Jess to be ready in the gym. Otherwise, we won't really need anything until dinner. We're having sushi, right?"

Tamara did not let her displeasure show. "Of course, Miss Widmore," she answered. Eleanor would not be happy, either. "I'll tell the kitchen about it immediately. Welcome to the Super Yacht Allegra, Danielle."

"Excellent!" Allegra squealed. "Come on, Danielle, let me show you around." The girls scurried off, Allegra leading Danielle by the arm.

And Tamara was reminded momentarily, watching them go, of the fable that tells of a rabbit that crosses a river by riding the snout of a fox, and she hoped the end would not come as harshly for Danielle, who seemed a sweet and innocent girl, as it had for the rabbit.

* * *

It had been an amazing afternoon for Danielle. After school, the limo picked them up and spirited them off to a private dock where Allegra's yacht (named after her!) waited. They met a beautiful young woman with dark red hair named Tamara, who said she was an assistant of some kind, and then Allegra gave her the grand tour.

The yacht was simply incredible and Danielle had never imagined that such wealth could exist in the world. It was classified as a Super Yacht, which meant it was more than one hundred fifty feet in length (it was one hundred sixty-four, actually, which was fifty meters). It could comfortably accommodate twelve crew members and twelve guests, but had space enough for fifty people or more to roam about. 

There were four individual decks: the lower deck, which housed three general staterooms aft, the engine room amidships and the crew quarters forward, not to mention an exterior swimming platform at the stern with stairs descending from the main deck; the main deck, which ascended to from those stairs took you to another exterior deck, this one sheltered, followed by the main lounge, the dining room and the galley, and then a hallway with two VIP staterooms to the left and right and Allegra's room (the owner's suite) at the end; the upper deck, with another exterior deck aft (above the sheltered deck one level below) used for outdoor dining and connected to the sky lounge, which had a full wet bar half-inside and half-outside, followed by the gymnasium and captain's cabin amidships and the bridge (where the captain drove the ship) to the fore; and the sun deck, an exposed roof-top deck with lounge chairs and the Jacuzzi.

It was amazingly spacious despite all that and so extravagant Danielle imagined there were five-star hotels less-well-situated and refined. She could not imagine what it must be like to spend time living on such a ship.

During the tour they met the whole of the crew: Walter, the captain; Lyle, the first officer; John, the chief engineer, and Richard, the second engineer; Albert, the bosun; Nicholas, the crewman; Eleanor and Terrance, a married couple, who were the steward and stewardess of the yacht; Tamara, mentioned already; and Jess, the masseuse and gym instructor.

And then they had gone back to Allegra's room and changed quickly into their workout gear, and spent the next hour chatting and exercising in the on-board gymnasium, which was nicer than any fitness center Danielle had ever seen. They rode bikes, did some elliptical, worked their abs and even did some light Pilates with the help of Jess, who was only twenty-four but a very accomplished instructor. By the time they were done, Danielle was exhausted.

But they were not done yet. Allegra was excited at the prospect of sushi and by the time they got back to her room from the gym, it was nearly seven o'clock and the sun was beginning to set. Danielle allowed her fatigue to give way to her hunger. They ate in the sky lounge, which is apparently where Allegra did most of her dining. The sushi was amazing (it was Danielle's first time, but she was not a finicky eater and loved it).

"Want a drink?" Allegra asked half-way through the meal as she dabbed a spicy tuna roll in soy sauce. There was an interesting kind of grin on the girl's face as she asked.

Danielle had a full glass of water right in front of her so it was obvious Allegra was thinking of something else. "Like what?" she asked innocently.

Allegra nodded in the direction of the bar and her grin widened. There was a significant twinkle in her blue eyes. "Like something stiffer than a little boy's boner," she replied.

Danielle's eyes widened to the size of saucers. She opened her mouth to speak, but had no idea what to say in response. She knew Allegra was more open and brazen than most other girls (speaking to her for more than a few minutes told you that, not to mention her skimpy fashion sense) and while she was mostly inexperienced, yes, Danielle was no blushing virgin herself, but to hear such lewdness outright was still somewhat of a shock.

The girl laughed and rose to her feet, and floated gracefully over to the bar. She poured two shot glasses full of what looked like vodka and then filled two glasses with more of the same, plus red bull. "Trust me," Allegra said as she returned and handing one of the shots to Danielle. "This will start our night off right."

The liquid burned as the shot went down. Danielle had not had too much experience with alcohol, either, but she knew enough to know how to take a shot. She just did not like doing it. She sucked down some of the red bull-vodka chaser to ease her pain.

Two shots and several minutes later, and feeling extremely loose and relaxed, they returned to the bedroom: Allegra wanted to make a nighttime trip to the Jacuzzi.

The girls pulled out their little bikinis and stripped down to their bras and panties, and out of the corner of her eye, Danielle watched as Allegra went one step further and got completely naked. The girl reached back and unhooked her bra and two incredible breasts spilled out, round and firm and shaped like two perfect teardrops. Then she hooked her thumbs into the band of her panties and guided the silken garment down her shapely hips and thighs. She lifted each leg gracefully in its turn, stepped out and tossed the little white bunch onto the floor. She stood up, her gorgeous body at full height, completely nude. Locks of stunning blonde hair cascaded down her shoulders and her luscious breasts jiggled as she swept it back with a quick flick of her head.

Allegra noticed her staring. "Do you like what you see?" she asked with a grin.

Danielle blushed and lowered her eyes. "You're beautiful," she said softly.

Allegra sighed and stepped forward, and wrapped her arms around Danielle in a gentle embrace. It was completely unexpected and represented the first time a nude girl had ever hugged her, but the experience was nice, Danielle thought. Allegra smelled wonderful and her skin was soft, and it was overall quite pleasant sharing the moment and knowing the friendship between them was deepening.

Then Allegra stepped back and looked at Danielle expectantly, hands on her hips. "Well?" she asked, her brazenness popping up once again. "Let's see the goods."

Danielle's eyes widened again as she realized Allegra was going to watch her closely while she undressed. She had been naked before in front of girls (like in gym class or the locker room) but there was something about the way Allegra was looking at her that made her nervous.

"Are you going to watch me?" she asked in a timid voice.

Allegra laughed. "Of course! Why not?"

There was really no response for that, Danielle realized, and so steeled herself and discarded her bra. She glanced up to find Allegra staring at her chest. 

"I hate wearing bras," Danielle said hurriedly, not knowing what else to say. "My boobs are larger 32D and don't fit most bras, so mine are always too small."

Allegra stepped closer, still staring. It was clear she was looking at the small red indenture marks on the sides of Danielle's breasts. "How sad," she said finally, and brought her hands up to touch the marks.

Danielle sucked in a quick breath. She had never actually had another girl touch her boobs before; Allegra was now gently massaging them. "Yes," was all she could say. She was not a lesbian, nor had she ever really been interested in girls in the same bi-curious way some of her old friends had, but it always felt nice to be touched.

Allegra reached up then with both hands and cupped her breasts, and Danielle took an involuntary step backward. Allegra smiled soothingly. "Don't be shy," she said. "You have beautiful breasts."

"Thank you," Danielle said, and turned quickly to finish readying herself for the Jacuzzi. The alcohol was definitely affecting her and she was feeling warm all over.

And because she was turned around, she did not see the wicked grin that flashed across the face of Allegra Widmore, who was very much looking forward to the weekend to come.

Part Three: An Unexpected Visitor

At thirty-two and having lived the life of a yacht crewmen for more than thirteen years, Nicholas Barnes had seen his fair share of amazing things: beautiful women, extravagant parties, expensive toys and money like you would not believe. And while he did not make nearly as much as the people he worked for (men and women to whom his entire salary would seem a fair price for a diamond ring) he saw his fair share of fringe benefits.

For instance, his current gig on board the Allegra (a post held for only a few months) meant he got to flirt and fool around with the two young female members of the crew, Tamara and Jess (he was the only guy younger than forty in the crew and most of them were married anyways, which meant both twenty-something girls were open to him and him alone), not to mention ogle the hot blonde eighteen year-old daughter of the owner of the ship, who scurried around in her slinky bikini a decent amount of the time.

He was in his cramped-but-suitable living quarters surfing the internet when the call came down from the bridge and changed the course of his night. The boss was on-board and this time she had a female friend with her (another delectable piece of ass named Danielle), which meant the chances of something exciting happening increased exponentially. He jumped up and grabbed the receiver.

"Nicholas," the flat voice of Albert Graves echoed on the other end of the device. Graves was the bosun for the ship, which basically meant he was a higher-ranked crewman than Nicholas. "The captain wants to see you on the bridge."

Nicholas set the phone down, sighed and hustled his way up two decks to the bridge, where the captain was waiting. Also in the room were Graves, Lyle Smith (the first officer), Eleanor Wentworth (the ship stewardess) and Tamara Gray (the ship liaison).

The captain was looking out over the waters of the marina (they were pushing off from the dock in a few minutes, headed for Catalina). The other four were standing quietly off to the side.

"Nicholas," the captain said in his usual quietly firm voice, "we have a situation."

Nicholas nodded respectfully and said, "Yes, sir," but inside he was grinning widely. When the captain spoke that way, it usually meant there was a job involving Allegra Widmore, the afore-mentioned hot blonde daughter of the owner of the ship.

Eleanor chimed in from his right. "Allegra and her friend have been drinking," she said with obvious displeasure in her voice, "and now they intend to use the Jacuzzi."

Nicholas nodded again. This was not the first time this had happened and he knew what was coming next, and it did little to curb his enthusiasm.

"Use the mirrored portal on the starboard side," the captain told him. There was a small storage hutch on the roof deck accessible from a circular service staircase in the galley. It was mirrored on the outside to provide easy viewing of the rook deck and jacuzzi for solely these kinds of moments and Nicholas was the usual beneficiary. "Keep an eye on them. We do not want one of them fainting in the water."

"Aye, sir," he said formally.

The captain nodded. "On your way," the man said.

Which is why Nicholas found himself several minutes later wedged inside the hutch, peering out the window at the steaming waters of the hot tub beyond, in which two beautiful young teenage girls were luxuriating. The voices were muffled, but still loud enough that he could clearly make out the words.

"What do you think?" Allegra asked without opening her eyes. Her head was resting against the border of the tub with the rest of her body, unfortunately, submerged and hidden.

The other girl (Danielle) looked over. She had been staring up at the stars. "Wonderful," she sighed. The girl sounded very sweet and Nicholas wondered just what had allowed Allegra Widmore to sink her teeth into her. "Thank you for inviting me."

"So tell me about boys," Allegra said, and Nicholas grinned: now they were getting to the good stuff. "Do you have a boyfriend? I'm surprised it's taken me so long to ask you."

Danielle shook her head. "No," she admitted, "no boyfriend. I've had a couple, one for almost a year, but no one right now."

Allegra opened her eyes and fixed the girl with a serious stare. Nicholas had seen the look many times before; it said her question would be answered. "Are you still a virgin?" she asked, and the other girl blushed.




Plaything



She never could have imagined the scene laid out before her as being a possibility. After all, in her regular life he was the one in authority: her TA, there to ensure that she got through university lab work without utterly failing. To see him like this, seven years her senior and tied naked to the bed in front of her, was utterly unexpected. Although, to be fair, she'd been expecting it since the moment a month before when she'd made up her mind about what she was going to do with him.

His eyes were closed and a smile played about his lips. It was almost as though he was dreaming of what would happen to him the moment he regained consciousness and enjoying every moment of it. She hoped he was; if he ended up enjoying himself, even a little bit, then she could feel less guilty about everything she had done up to that point (not to mention everything she was going to do just as soon as he woke up). And she had done a whole lot to feel guilty for. On pretense of needing some extra help with the data sheet she had been filling out after the lab, she had convinced him to stay just a few minutes late.

A few minutes were all she had needed. Despite having been trained in self-defense, he hadn't been given enough warning to properly react when she tackled him and pressed a cloth damp with strong, sickly-sweet smelling liquid to his face. She hadn't rendered him fully unconscious, however; instead, she took full advantage of the drunkenness that occurred just before passing out, and managed to walk him out of the lab, fully docile. She tucked his arm over her shoulder and led him down some side streets and alleyways, dosing him with fumes whenever he seemed to be regaining some sense of himself, until they reached her apartment. She had sneaked him up the back stairs and let him stumble into her room. Once he'd sat down heavily on her bed, she had pushed him gently back and done exactly what she wanted the entire time: to lay the cloth delicately over his mouth and watch as his weak struggles subsided and eyes closed.

She had bound him head and foot to the bedposts with silk scarves stained a deep crimson after undressing him. Briefly, while working his arms through his shirtsleeves, she had toyed with the idea of leaving him clothed. After a few seconds, she had rejected the idea. Though waking up and having his clothes ripped off while he struggled uselessly would have turned her on more than having him wake up totally naked, she wasn't sure how much time she would have with him. In the feast of activities that were about to take place, she didn't want to waste time on the appetizers if it meant having to give up the main dish.

As she waited for him to open his eyes, she bent down and took the plastic box out from under her bed. It held all of her favourite toys: handcuffs, blindfolds, gags and straps. She had already leaned one whip, a cat-o'-nine-tails, against a wall. Next to the whip was a makeshift St. Andrew's Cross that she had never before gotten the chance to use. She took out a gag and clutched it in one hand, ready to stifle any noise he made when he came to. Thus prepared, she took a seat near his head and stroked his cheek. 

She found him utterly handsome. He oozed masculinity. His face had strong features paired with a square jaw. His hair was cropped short. Best of all, he was muscled enough to betray the fact that he was someone who spent quite a bit of time in the gym. It was this manliness that excited her more than anything; unlike her previous conquests, which had admittedly been far more consensual than this one, he would put up a good fight and react much more strongly to what she was going to put him through.

To her, simply the sight of him totally helpless gave her an incredible rush of pleasure. Quietly, she slipped her hand into her panties and fingered herself. She kept her eyes trained on him as she rubbed herself faster and faster, barely containing the sounds that begged to escape from her, not wanting to wake him up before she had the chance to come herself. When she did, it was explosive; her mouth opened uncontrollably wide, her eyes squeezed shut and she rocked back into the mattress with the force of it.

She didn't have to wait long after her climax until he let out a soft moan. His breathing, just moments before slow and steady, came in faster and faster rhythm. His eyes roved under his eyelids before eventually opening.

What he saw was incomprehensible to him at first. Perched next to him on the bed was a girl he'd helped in his lab several times. Normally, she was plain and average, wearing mostly baggy clothing and sporting limp hair. Now she had turned into an Amazon. Gone were the shapeless clothes, replaced by a tight-fitting black leather corset and short skirt. Her blond hair had been softly curled; the curls spilled over her shoulders. His eyes trailed down her long, smooth and lean legs, which were covered to the knee by a pair of sheer black stockings.

The sight of her, in fact, was so mesmerizing at first that he was unaware of his plight. The moment he realized that his erection wasn't being held down by jeans, however, he realized that he was not only naked, but immobile as well. He tried to move his arms, only to find that they were tied too firmly to budge so much as an inch. He struggled harder, but it was pointless. Having exhausted all options, and by this point frantic, he opened his mouth to scream.

She clapped a hand over his mouth before he could so much as draw a breath. Without moving her hand, she shifted her position. Now she was straddling him. He could feel the wetness of her panties on his bare stomach, and felt himself becoming harder despite his unwillingness.

"You listen to me," she murmured to him in a quietly menacing voice, "and you'll walk out of this room with no permanent damage. You are not to shout when I let you use your mouth again. If you do, I'll gag you -- and beyond that, I'll make you regret it. Do you understand?"

He nodded, and she took her hand away from his mouth.

"Why are you doing this to me?" he asked.

She tilted her head back at this and sent out a peal of laughter. When she met his dark brown eyes again with her intense blue ones, she answered simply, "Because I can."

TO BE CONTINUED...