There was a soft clink as Samantha set her coffee mug down on the desktop. It had been a long day - a very interesting, unusual one, too - and she was more then a bit tired. She certainly hadn't expected anything like what had transpired today when she'd left this morning to watch Annette for Eloise! In the next room Courtney was already passed out, sprawled under the sheets in Samantha's bed. She, too, was exhausted, and for more reasons then Samantha.

She carefully checked over the email she was about to send, making sure she hadn't forgotten anything. Marcie Oates was an old friend of Samantha's. She was a switch, being both Dominant and submissive, but was only submissive, never Dominant, when with Samantha. She'd spent several weekends now and then with Samantha, both of them enjoying the time together. But, in addition to her lifestyle choice, Marcie was also quite good at making items. Her quality was so exceptional many of her friends and associates wondered why she didn't go into business for herself. But Marcie preferred keeping her 'crafts' as a hobby, concerned that if it became 'work' it would no longer be fun.

Samantha could certainly understand that concern. And she was grateful that Marcie considered Samantha one of the relatively few 'clients' she'd consistently make items for. Especially this time, since there wasn't any way Samantha could purchase what she required and wanted from more normal venues. And, unlike standard commercial enterprises, Marcie could be depended upon for utter, complete discretion.

After the introductory paragraphs where she caught up with old news and the like, Samantha stated she needed some items on a 'rush' basis. Again that wasn't overly unusual. There had been a time or three when Samantha had wanted something ASAP, the result of a surprise, sudden chance of a weekend's play with someone special. And Samantha was willing to pay a premium for that, too, even though Marcie never insisted and usually tried demurring off the additional charge. But Samantha had always refused being overridden, saying that if she was in such a hurry then the laborer should be worthy of her hire.

But this time her order was quite a bit more substantial then those in the past. And possibly strikingly different, too. Oh, not in the types and styles, no. Not even in the quantity, although Samantha had never ordered quite so much at one time before. No, the things that possibly might stand out were the sizes.

There could be no mistaking their diminutive, miniature proportions. Not when someone saw them, and most certainly not if someone were the one making them. Samantha hoped that Marcie would simply be curious yet ask no questions but, if she did, Samantha was prepared to say she wanted them as novelties of a sort. That she'd meant to order them several months ago but had forgotten to do so and now was in a bind (no pun intended) and needed them right away. She certainly didn't think Marcie would suspect she had a little eleven-year-old slave in need of custom-sized items!

Then again, Samantha never considered the most glaringly obvious rationale for their purpose and design. While they weren't intended for use on Courtney, it never occurred to her that someone else might draw that conclusion.

First off she'd listed the sizes, each of them having been painstakingly taken from Twerp just that afternoon. Then she listed what she required, stating the styles, colors and material selections she wanted. And it was a pretty comprehensive list, too.

Padded wrist and ankle cuffs, both normal and suspension. Fur-lined grip cuffs for extended overhead suspension. Tall curved posture collar. Elbow, thigh and knee cuffs. Full body harness. A chastity harness like those made by Access Denied. A leather arm, single-sleeve, glove binder. Bondage mittens. Bondage opera gloves. A straight jacket. A full head hood. Plus scaled down paddles - both wood, rubber and leather - and straps more suitable for use on someone Twerp's size. A few more things were added, then Samantha carefully perused the list. Virtually anything else she might need - like plugs, gags, clamps and the like - she could easily modify from her existing stock or simply use 'as is'.

She figured it would take at least a week for all that to be made. Which was all right, she easily had enough items to get started with Twerp. But as things developed over this summer she wanted to have those, as a minimum, available for use. They might only be useable for this year and, perhaps, the next, since Twerp was still growing. But she didn't mind spending the funds for things that would soon be outgrown. They'd certainly get their money's worth out of them in the meantime.

One last check then Samantha encrypted the document before sending it. There. Hopefully, now, by next week she'd be getting a very special package freighted to her.

Putting the PC on standby she leaned back in her chair, took her mug and sipped the cooled coffee. She was headed off to bed soon herself, and as she relaxed she couldn't help but think of Twerp.

Stashed away downstairs in Samantha's hidden playroom, locked in her cage for the night.

Samantha couldn't prevent or avoid the shiver that rippled through her at that thought. Nor, for that matter, could she resist the tingle of arousal that image ignited. Twerp was, bar none, the most exciting, erotic slave she'd ever played with, and the fact that it was totally nonconsensual made that even more intense. She'd really been enslaved. That hadn't been a scene, a role. Not at all. And although Samantha had had very good, justifiable reasons for choosing that sort of punishment, that didn't mitigate or negate how that was affecting her.

Or how it was affecting Twerp.

As rebellious and defiant as she was, as angry and upset, mutinous and obstinate, unhappy and miserable . . . she wanted this. Samantha could tell. It was obvious in her every reaction and response. Logically and consciously she might resist, struggle and fight - and sincerely want to win, too - but inside, where it counted, she wanted to fail. She wanted indelible lines drawn, set and adhered to; rules made and held to.

She wanted to be made a slave.

She might not think of it that way, no. In fact, Samantha highly doubted she consciously thought of it that way at all . . . yet. She might be cognizant of how certain things made her feel, how they felt, true enough. But to actually accept desiring to be a slave? No, that really wasn't something she could comprehend. In fact, it often took years for a mature adult to accept that about themselves. Part of what made Samantha such a popular Domme was her innate understanding of that, her ability to gently yet firmly guide a novice along that path of understanding and acceptance of their inner, hidden selves.

Of course, they had some inkling such a thing was there to begin with. And, just as importantly, had freely, willingly chosen to be instructed and trained. Again, as Twerp had not.

Samantha could no longer pretend her fascination with that didn't exist. That she wasn't intrigued by that fact. Hell, that she wasn't aroused by that. Because she was. And just as aroused by the child herself, finding her quite unexpectedly attractive and alluring.

It wasn't that others she'd trained before hadn't, at times, balked at things. Shying like spooked horses or even digging their heels in like a stubborn fractious mule. But Samantha had always known, deep inside, that they really wanted training. Really wanted to surrender authority and control. Really wanted to surrender their freedom. Whether that be for a few hours for play or training, or for a weekend, or for lengthier, long-distance training. But Twerp's resistance, defiance and stubbornness were borne from her not being given any choice. She hadn't been willing, eager and ready to be trained, never mind that her own nature seemed to be predisposed for that. And the disparity between what she instinctively sought versus what she consciously resisted was powerfully enticing and exciting to Samantha, as was the realization of the power and control she had over the helpless little slave currently stored below.

Adding to that was the child herself. Samantha hadn't really noticed, before today, just how captivating and alluring she was. Extremely tempting, in fact, extraordinarily so. Physically fit, perfectly proportioned, flawlessly complected. Her lithe muscles firm and toned from physical activity, she was a petite, pretty child poised on the verge of pubescent nubility. Her eyes were gorgeous; huge pools of gleaming grass-green, with tiny flecks of gold in their depths. Her hair was silky and soft, thick with body, deep auburn tumbling curls with coppery-bronze shimmering highlights. Even her hands and feet were exquisite; Samantha had noticed that during the manicure and pedicure. Little fingers diminutively graceful and elegant, small feet enchanting, the arches dainty and the tiny toes perfectly curved and symmetrical.

If she were eighteen Samantha would be lusting after her. As it was, she was having an extremely difficult time not drooling anyway. Especially when she was highly aroused, squirming and writhing and literally dripping!

Samantha gazed at the wall just above the monitor, her eyes unfocused, gazing off into an unseen distance. From the instant she'd decided to punish Twerp the way she'd chosen to do, from the moment she started looking, thinking and treating her as the slave she now was, Samantha's mindset had shifted. Like it or not, she couldn't help reacting to Twerp on every level, not just the disciplinary one. The little slave's very responsiveness was only adding to how Samantha felt and responded to what she saw. Understanding, as Twerp did not, just what was happening.

Placing the now-empty mug down Samantha rose, deeply stretched then headed to the master bathroom. A few minutes later steam was rising from within the glass-walled shower as Samantha luxuriated in the pulsating warm water cascading down on her. Tomorrow was Saturday, so she had the next two days completely free. She'd already discussed with her daughter some basic training plans, explaining that they were, of course, subject to change depending upon how well - or how poorly - her new slave responded. Considering they'd already been modified several times since this afternoon based on Twerp's performance that really didn't come as much of a surprise to either one of them.

Oh yes, the next two to four days should prove to be very, very interesting, Samantha thought as she lazily showered and shampooed. Already she was getting a very good idea of how Twerp thought and felt, how she would respond and why. And, considering the poor child herself had no clue about any of that, that meant she was utterly helpless to truly resist or withstand her training and conditioning. Why, she didn't even realize that arousal was something that could be controlled!

Slipping into a pair of satin pajamas Samantha quietly padded back into her bedroom after showering, standing at the side of her bed and tenderly gazing down at her deeply asleep daughter. Courtney didn't sleep all that often any more in the 'big bed' with Mom although, now and then, especially if she'd had a bad dream or nightmare, Samantha had her sleep tucked in next to her. But tonight was rather special.

Samantha's heart still melted recalling the unexpected and deeply touching 'gift' her daughter had offered to her earlier. She couldn't have mistaken Courtney's intent and, even if she had, most certainly couldn't have after she'd softly asked Courtney if she was sure, if she truly was offering to be tickled until she needed changing, and watched as she'd softly blushed yet simply nodded. Samantha knew she hadn't been offering that because she wanted it; found it exciting. No. No, she'd done so because she'd thought Samantha had wanted that.

And in a blinding, stunning jolt of astonishment Samantha realized that she did want just that. But she couldn't make herself follow through. Partly, she mused, it was because she hadn't been focused on her own desires at the moment; the objective of that little lesson had been to teach and instruct rather then for Samantha's personal enjoyment. And partly because it had been her own daughter, and Samantha hadn't been prepared for something of that nature with her. And partly, she surmised, it had been because she'd felt following through with that might detract from the point of the lesson itself. And it was too important to potentially lessen the impact and meaning of what Samantha needed Courtney to understand.

Although Samantha couldn't help - or forget - the abrupt intense shiver that had rippled through her at the image of Twerp in that self-same position. Samantha tickling her to within seconds of helplessly peeing, watching and listening as she frantically begged and pleaded . . . then tickling her again, until the little slave lost that battle and wet herself.

Carefully slipping into bed next to Courtney Samantha drew the light cotton top sheet up, making sure it stayed tucked around them both. Turning the bedstand light off she closed her eyes. Tomorrow was going to come quite early, but it couldn't come early enough for her. Or Courtney.

Sasha was already awake when Courtney strolled in. All during the 'night' (as Sasha had had no way to ascertain what time it really was) she'd fitfully slept. Part of that was that she'd napped quite a bit on and off throughout her ordeals the day before. But mostly it was due to her being caged . . . and her dreams.

Never before had Sasha had such vivid, intense dreams while she'd slept. Dreams where she'd been kidnapped. Abducted. Spirited away. Taken captive. Dreams where she'd been helplessly stripped, helplessly touched, fondled and played with. Dreams where she'd been captured and made a slave, to be trained and sold. Put on the block and auctioned off.

Dreams that she kept waking up from - tingling and thrumming deep inside her tummy, slender silken inner thighs and pussy slick - they'd been so profound and graphic . . .

. . . Only to discover they weren't really just dreams at all. That she really had been made into a slave. Was sleeping naked, collared and locked in a little cage. That she'd been trained the day before, had been played with like a toy.

Dreams versus reality, slumber versus consciousness . . . mirrored images of each other and, just like reflections in two facing mirrors, they kept multiplying and increasing, feeding off one another. The tinglings were almost constant now, occasionally quite intense, while at times merely a threshold sensation. But ever omnipresent. It was truly a wonder she'd managed to get any sleep at all.

The longer she remained inside her cage the more confining it felt, as if it were, somehow, impossibly slowly shrinking. Sasha knew it really wasn't, she could see and tell that wasn't so. But it felt that way to her. She just wanted out, wanted out badly. Wanted nothing more then the sheer, ebullient freedom to move, to walk, to do something other then just lay there!

Once again she had to back out on hands and knees once Courtney had lowered the rear section of the cage, and her cheeks burned at the alacrity of her motion, speeding out like she was on fire. Then stood to be leashed when Courtney told her to do so, this time her face a soft crimson from slowly building impotent defiance and rebellion.

There had to be some way of dissuading both her Aunt and twerpy little jerk of a cousin from this insanity. Maybe if she just dragged her feet enough they'd get discouraged and give up. Then, after things were back to normal, Sasha could have a talk with Aunt Samantha. Say she wanted to try some things after all, but only the things she chose and on her terms. Heck, if she had to she'd even agree to letting her little twerp of a cousin watch or help some. But under Sasha's strict guidance and permission, of course.

Yeah. That was it. That would work.

Courtney didn't say a word, simply led Sasha out of the cage room. Sasha was curious why Courtney seemed to be walking somewhat gingerly and carefully, but her curiosity instantly vanished when - thank goodness! - she was taken right away to the bathing area and then over to one of the toilets. She hadn't wanted to dwell on the fact but her bladder had been slowly growing more and more insistent over the last hour or so.

However, this little visit was good and bad, good and bad, good and bad. Good in that she really needed to pee. Bad in that Courtney obviously wasn't going to leave Sasha while she did so, considering she neither unfastened the leash nor released it from her hand. Good in that Sasha's hands weren't cuff locked behind her back and so she could go on her own. Bad in that, not only wasn't she going to leave, but Courtney obviously intended to stare and watch as Sasha peed. And considering the leash wasn't all that long, she certainly would have the proverbial front row seat for the performance. Good in that Sasha could take care of certain after-the-fact necessities on her own. And bad in that it was dreadfully obvious she was quite a bit wetter then simply peeing would account for, and Courtney certainly wouldn't miss seeing that.

Still, the 'good's outweighed the 'bad's when all the math was done and, other then resembling a stop light, Sasha managed to take care of business pretty much without a hitch.

Afterwards Courtney simply gave the leash a gentle tug then led Sasha off again. This was starting to get old, Sasha thought, and although she docilely followed along she didn't bother with either her posture or correct position relative to her twerpy cousin.

Until they walked into the exercise room, and Sasha saw her Aunt standing inside. Then she abruptly snapped into the proper posture!

Courtney led Sasha over, stopping right in front of her Aunt. And then Sasha's face drained of all color as Courtney very softly said, not even looking at Sasha as she did so, "How nice to see that a slave remembers how to properly be led and to stand."

Aunt Samantha nodded, then Sasha turned even whiter, started deeply trembling as her Aunt abruptly fixed cold, hard eyes on Sasha as she noted in a deadly soft tone, "It's really too bad a slave attempts to impress the wrong person. I'm not her Mistress, after all."

Courtney nodded at that. "Yes. I've noticed that. She doesn't bother to be pleasing to me, but certainly seems scared of you. She really does have that backwards, mistaking which one of us she needs to be scared of and be correct around. I see I'm going to have to . . . 'fix' that."

Sasha gulped, not liking the sound of that at all. Or the way they both finally turned and looked at her. With chilly, severe gazes that didn't seem at all amused at Sasha's duplicity, trickery or defiance. Sasha's tummy abruptly flip-flopped, suddenly realizing that Courtney hadn't been tricked, hadn't been taken in by Sasha's attempts at bypassing her authority. Instead she'd simply given Sasha forty miles of rope to hang herself exceptionally well with.

They couldn't have looked at her for longer then five seconds, but it seemed like hours to Sasha. She felt as if she were shrinking, shrinking, shrinking down to a mere inch tall. She fidgeted and squirmed under their stern, unforgiving stares, tiny toes wriggling as her tummy sickly churned.

They didn't say anything more, Courtney simply removed the leash from the collar after a few seconds. But Sasha didn't feel any relief at all at that. She was pretty sure neither of them were going to forget, and was positive they'd be doing something about her misbehavior, too.

And it was misconduct, too. It hadn't been an accident. A forgetful oversight. They had been acts of premeditated, intentional, willful rebellion. Sasha would bear the brunt, the full responsibility, of any punishment she suffered as a result. She didn't like thinking or accepting that reasoning, but neither could she deny it.

Her Aunt had stayed there with the two of them the entire following hour, watching over as Sasha went through her morning exercise routine for the first time. It started off with her being weighed and the result logged into a prepared book. Then came five minutes of warm-up exercises followed by fifteen minutes of gradually increasing, intensive stretches, after which came fifteen minutes of calisthenics. They, in turn, were followed a twenty minute workout on the personal gym; the weights used, and numbers of repetitions completed, for each station logged into the same book as her weight had been. Finally there were five minutes of cooling down exercises, by the end of which Sasha had been dripping with sweat, muscles feeling trembly and wobbly from the workout.

Her Aunt had watched her like a hawk the entire time, correcting mistakes in the proper execution or position of her drills and, by her very presence, silently encouraging Sasha's performance to be her best. Well, 'encourage' wasn't exactly the best description. Intimidate actually fit much better, for Sasha didn't dare try and slack off while her every move was scrutinized.

It was extremely discomfiting. Just two days ago Sasha wouldn't have thought twice about trying to manipulate her Aunt as she had been everyone else. But there was just . . . something . . . about her Aunt's expression and attitude since the 'discovery' (as Sasha had started mentally labeling when everything had started going wrong) that distinctly warned Sasha that messing with her Aunt in any way wasn't a good idea. For one thing, it wasn't going to accomplish anything and, for another - and more important reason - Aunt Samantha wasn't going to be amused with any tomfoolery or misbehavior, and would make her displeasure graphically and - literally - painfully clear. So, for now, it was a matter of discretion being the better part of valor and, more immediate, saving her ass.

Ordinarily she'd have been annoyed and vexed at having to face an entire summer of exercise routines and drills. And when they'd first pronounced that 'sentence' yesterday Sasha had grumped at the realization she'd be doing them. However, after being confined in that cage on and off for the better part of twelve hours her body and mind had been screaming to just move. Do something. The abundant energy that every healthy child possessed demanded activity, and being exhausted by the end of the hour actually - and surprisingly to her - came as a very welcome relief.

She'd hoped she'd be allowed to shower before whatever next they had planned, and sighed with anticipation when Courtney did, in fact, lead her back to the shower room. Of course, Sasha had snorted, Courtney made sure to make showering appear as a command, informing her after unlocking and removing the cuffs that "a slave is now to shower and groom. She has twenty minutes to do that, and is to be kneeling there," pointing to the same spot she had last night, "when she is finished."

'Paybacks are Hell,' she muttered to herself, vowing to make Courtney pay, with interest, for every little indignity she put Sasha through. Once her leash was unclipped she padded to the showers to wash up. Then padded back, half-seething and half-delighted as her stuff had been moved, obviously put back away. Why they put it back when she was just gonna use it again was beyond her, but she was elated that, just as they had been all this summer, they were doing the picking up and cleaning after chores.

Her elation vanished the instant she opened her locker and started gathering her things. There had been some changes, she noticed, small stubborn chin jutting in impotent, mutinous anger. For one thing, the bottle of that crappy shampoo was missing. For another, the bar of soap was different. This one was a greyish-white, and looked coarse and porous. And that awful towel and washcloth . . .

Sasha numbly removed what obviously had replaced them. Both were a soft brown, a very coarse weave and rough texture. If she didn't know better, it looked and felt like burlap! Stunned, dismayed and furious Sasha turned around, holding them in her small hands. Glaring at Courtney who was simply standing where she'd been, but now her little arms were folded across her chest and, Sasha noticed with a swallow, with an expression that was anything but amused. There was no longer a look of pride, pleasure and awe, instead a firm, stern and icy manner. "I'm not your Mom," Courtney coldly stated. "And I'm most certainly not your maid, either. A slave is to pick up and clean up after herself. And, if that proves to be too difficult for her to do, then she'll pay the price for her laziness."

Sasha bridled at that, face flushed with growing anger. But Courtney wasn't quite finished, it seemed.

"If a slave continues to leave messes, she won't have to worry about things like towels and washcloths. I'll simply strap her to the wall and scrub her down with a stiff bristle brush and ice water from now on."

It pretty much felt like ice water had just been dumped on Sasha at that. The little twerp! Who did she think she was, anyway? And how dare she think she could do something like that!?

'She's your Mistress', that tiny voice in Sasha's mind whispered. 'That's who she is. And she dares because she can. Because you're her slave.'

Sasha wanted to march over and wipe that smug look right off of the twerp's face. And she could do that, too. Easily, in fact. But she didn't think Aunt Samantha would be overly amused if she did, and Sasha was utterly certain she wouldn't be delighted at what happened afterwards.

Darn it! Sasha seethed. The little brat's only nine! I'm two years older then she is! It's not right that a little kid gets to boss me around!

'She's your Mistress', that little voice whispered back in reply. 'And you're just a slave. Her slave. And that gives her the right to do whatever she pleases'.

Sasha still mentally groused and protested. 'She's just being mean. Lording it over me when I don't have any choice but do what she says. She's enjoying doing mean, awful things to me.'

That little voice didn't answer that time. But, then again, it didn't have to, for Sasha already had the answer. In actual fact Sasha had to admit, if she was honest with herself (and Sasha didn't want to be truthful; she wanted to sulk, fume and bitch in self-righteous anger but couldn't) Courtney hadn't once really taken advantage of her supposed power and position over Sasha. And had taken an awed delight and joy when things were going well. She really didn't seem to like it when Sasha was acting up, no. But she wasn't backing down like she had been either. Like it or not - and she didn't - once again Sasha couldn't blame anyone else but herself for the current situation and decision. For almost two weeks now Sasha had been refusing to pitch in and help with the daily chores, instead bullying Courtney into doing both their shares. And one of those had been picking up after their baths. Sasha thought that was a silly waste of time to do. Plus, back at home, her Mom had finally given up trying to make Sasha do that anymore, and simply picked up after her daughter.

Which, as Sasha thought, was how it should be.

But neither her Aunt or her little cousin thought that, and Sasha well knew she was supposed to do things like hang up her towel and washcloth after using them, and put away her toiletries and not leave them scattered all helter-skelter around. She hadn't done that, of course. Instead, she'd simply browbeat Courtney into doing that for her.

So Sasha couldn't even complain (not that she could have anyway, considering she wasn't allowed to speak) that it was unfair to punish her like this when she didn't know that was a rule. Because she did know it was.

Courtney must have been a mindreader for, at that very moment, she added, "A slave shouldn't have to have been instructed to pick up after herself. A slave already knew that was something she's supposed to do. A slave isn't going to be instructed about things she already knows about. Only the new things she'll be learning."

After a few seconds of silence after that announcement Sasha simply stalked off to the showers, figuring Courtney was done being sanctimonious and not wanting to give her more time to come up with priggish things to say. She was still angry, and it didn't help knowing that she really didn't have anyone else but herself to blame for this. It had been a very long time since Sasha had had to personally pay the consequences for her actions and behavior, and she wasn't liking the sensation much at all.

On the conscious level, anyway.

Subconsciously, though, was a subliminal sensation of safety. Of lines and limits being set and drawn . . . and adhered to. Sasha being held to them, accountable to her own actions.

Sasha's temper wasn't improved any at finding out the new soap, impossibly so, sucked even worse then the bar she'd used last night. It didn't even lather, just sort of made a slippery film that she supposed was actually cleaning. And if that stuff wasn't burlap it was a pretty dog gone good imitation of it! She didn't even try using it to wash with, it felt way too coarse and abrasive so she simply 'soaped' her small hands and quickly laved herself down. This was just too stupid and such a waste of time, she fumed. Why bother putting towels and stuff away when you were just gonna use them again anyway? Sheesh! She preferred to be indolent rather then industrious, and chores like those just seemed to be a silly, stupid waste of time and energy.

They didn't seem to think so, though. And it was their house, so they could decide what they wanted done there. And she was their guest - or had been, anyway - so she should have, out of simple politeness and manners, been going along with their preferences. But . . . she hadn't been, and now, once again, she was paying the price for her decisions.

That so-called 'towel' was about as absorbent as stone and felt like sandpaper against her skin. She'd pretty much guessed it would, too, so she quickly raced through the shower so she could 'drip-dry' rather then towel off, although she didn't have much of a choice about using it for her hair. She hadn't wanted to wet her hair for that very reason but, considering her hair was quite damp from all the exercising, she didn't have much of a choice.

Sasha hesitated only a moment after she'd finished brushing her hair before drawing it back into a pony again and banding it. She hated knowing she was forced to do that, loathed that feeling of helplessness, of having no choice about it. But she'd hate having a pageboy worse, so it came down to the lesser of two evils. And, in a way, she did have a choice: she could choose to ponytail her hair as told, and keep all her hair, or decide not to pony it and wind up with a pageboy cut. Ugh. Some choice!

Much as she hated to admit it, though, if she were to wind up with a pageboy . . . while they might be the ones to do the actual cutting, she would have been the one who, by her actions and choices, led to that result. Just like everything else that had been happening, she'd been given options as well as informed as to what would happen if she failed to obey.

There isn't a child born that doesn't resent that sensation: having no say so in what rules are made and what needs to be done. They fuss, grouse, whine and complain. Even throw tantrums at times. But, deep inside, when the rules are just (and not necessarily fair) and the parents or authority figures are caring and loving, children innately, instinctively find comfort and assurance in those rules and limits. And Sasha was no different, save in that for a long time now she'd had the premature freedom to run as she pleased, and being put back into that position was stressful and unwelcome. And she wasn't going to just roll over and give up without a fight.

About the only positive thing she could say about showering this morning was at least it rinsed off all the sweat. When she thought about all the nice stuff in the 'Executive Bathroom' she wanted to cry. And it didn't help at all remembering what she'd been told, either.

"Should a slave start being pleasing and obedient," Courtney had said "she can earn more and more choices and selections of things to wash and groom with. She can even earn the use of this room, too."

Funny thing was she instinctively knew that hadn't been meant as a bribe, a way of enticing or luring Sasha into behaving. It had been simply an announcement, informing her that, along with assured punishments for failure to toe the line there were also potential compensations that could be earned for obedience. Could be, and potential; there were no assurances or guarantees. And earned, not presumed or assumed.

Still sulking Sasha padded back into the locker area, this time stowing her items - such as they were, anyway - back in her locker. She almost just tossed them inside as an act of defiance but then thought better about doing that. It would be just like them to check up on her and she didn't think they'd be at all amused if she did that. And since she didn't doubt for a moment that Courtney was serious about using a bristle brush and ice water Sasha chose not to take that risk.

She did, however, after replacing the items neatly inside and then buckling and locking her cuffs back on, just lazily sit rather than kneel as told to do. Just as she had last night, watching the door carefully in order to shift into kneeling when Courtney returned.

Unfortunately for the child, while she was almost as clever and bright as her little cousin, she couldn't begin holding her own against her Aunt. Especially a woman who had, for years now, been training submissives and slaves who, in some cases, could be every bit as sneaky and rebellious as Sasha.

"I seem to recall a slave being told to kneel when she was done showering."

For all the fact that her voice was so fluting and piping, Courtney's tone sent ice straight through Sasha's veins. So soft and low, incredibly silky, yet utterly frigid, severe and grim. And implacable. Sasha literally squeaked, utterly startled. Courtney hadn't come in from the outside, that door was still closed! But . . .

. . . The door to the Executive Bathroom was now open, and Sasha realized with a sickly sinking feeling to her tummy that Courtney must have been inside, cracking the door open just enough to peek past. Which meant she'd seen Sasha just lounging about, intentionally disobeying her order.

Courtney looked absolutely livid. Every bit as furious as she had yesterday, when she'd exploded in anger, kicking Sasha's ankles wide apart before storming off in a rage. But, unlike yesterday, this time her anger seemed fully under her control . . . which somehow made that even more frightening and scarier.

Sasha rapidly scrambled into Nadu, visibly quaking in abrupt abject dread. Right at this moment Courtney looked every bit as menacing as her Mom.

Like water draining down a sheet of glass all the color washed from Sasha as Courtney continued in that forbidding, silky-soft sinister tone, "It seems a slave has already forgotten what she was told just this morning. So I'm going to . . . correct that. In a way a slave can't possibly mistake."

Wha . . .? Sasha thought in stunned bewilderment. What was I told? I wasn't told anything!

And then her blood froze as she abruptly remembered.

"Yes. I've noticed that. She doesn't bother to be pleasing to me, but certainly seems scared of you. She really does have that backwards, mistaking which one of us she needs to be scared of and be correct around. I see I'm going to have to . . . 'fix' that."

She literally whimpered, quaking as Courtney commanded, in a soft, almost caressing, icy, ominous tone, "Kneel . . . for punishment . . . extended."

Shuddering with trepidation and growing fear she did just that, the embarrassment of that pose never even surfacing for she was far too frightened of what might follow. The only good thing about this, she considered, was that Courtney was probably going to use just her hand. After all, it wasn't as if that awful paddle was conveniently available. So this couldn't possibly be as bad as she feared.

She was about to discover deciding that was very much like the lookout on the Titanic thinking it was just an itty-bitty piece of ice dead ahead.

She was supposed to keep her head down and remain looking at the floor. She knew that, but couldn't keep herself from peeking up when Courtney simply marched over to the locker wall area. And when she saw what Courtney removed from inside a locker she blanched so badly her skin looked chalk-white, little golden freckles standing out in stark relief.

Courtney was coldly furious. Mom had warned her, again and again, to expect Twerp to defy her in every imaginable way. Worse, in the beginning, they weren't likely to be terribly obvious or blatant ways, either, but very insidiously sneaky ones. Chipping away at Courtney's authority and power over her.

Courtney didn't think even Twerp would be that silly and stupid. After all, how many times did you have to be hit over the head before you simply accepted rules were rules? And it certainly wasn't as if Courtney was going out of her way to be mean to Twerp. That had been something Courtney had been afraid of: once in the position of power turning into an even worse bully then Sasha had been.

And Courtney had even tried to be kind, gentle and understanding too. Not a pushover, no, but certainly not some sort of evil, wicked sadist (Mom having told her about stuff like that yesterday; sadism and maso-something-or-other, among many other things, until Courtney thought her head was gonna explode. Although, because she had an incredible thirst for knowledge and learning it was also fun, too, being taught all that). But Twerp was abusing Courtney's kind nature, taking advantage of that. Just as she had been for all this summer so far.

Mom had also explained the need to 'crack the whip', both figuratively and literally, when Twerp started being defiant and rebellious in any way at all. She'd illustrated that in a way that made perfect sense to Courtney, too. A puppy didn't know anything and, if you waited until it was all grown up and had all bad habits it was a lot of work to correct them. When if you'd just have corrected them when it was still just a little puppy that was way easier to do.

Well, Courtney wasn't going to feel the least little bit guilty about punishing Twerp. Dog gone it, she knew what she was supposed to have done! Courtney had told her! And she simply decided to do just as she pleased. Fine. She had no one else to blame then but herself. However . . .

. . . While she didn't feel any guilt at all about punishing Twerp, she was feeling a bit nervous and squeamish about how she was about to do that. And with good reason, too.

Reaching into the now-open locker Courtney's tiny, soft hand slipped around a smooth, polished wood handle, the surface feeling cool against her skin. A seven-and-a-quarter inch long handle, of rich, earth-toned Jarrah wood, polished until it gleamed like glass. Attached to one end was a double layer of dense, quarter-inch thick Latigo leather, an inch-and-a-half wide and eleven-and-a-half long, their edges smoothed and the far ends gently rounded. Mom said this was called a 'punishment strap' and, from her first glimpse of it, Courtney could certainly see what it was called that! She'd deeply shuddered and quailed the moment she'd seen it!

That had been very early this morning, before they'd even woken Twerp up. Mom had wanted to warn Courtney that, after having a night to dwell on matters, Twerp was very likely to start pushing the limits. And had suggested that strap as an 'object lesson' to get the point across that defiance and disobedience were not going to be accepted.

It wasn't a toy, Mom had softly explained. Not by any means. It wasn't something to use on a whim, or for fun. Not the same way the riding crop could be used, anyway. It was a very serious instrument of punishment, and while it could be used on Twerp it was going to hurt. A lot. It wasn't something she'd be able to easily forget or dismiss within minutes afterwards.

Just looking at it Courtney could easily accept that. There was something about it that just looked . . . ominous. Menacing. That it meant business.

And if she felt that way just looking at it, Courtney could easily see the effect it would most certainly have on Twerp.

Which made her decide, even as her tummy fluttered just looking at it, she'd wanted the option of using it if and when she felt it was needed.

Of course, choosing that made her tummy churn even worse. For she knew what that meant, and what would have to happen before she could, in fact, use it.

She knew, beyond any shadow of a doubt, just how awful and horrid that must feel when Mom had, very softly and concerned, asked her twice if she was sure. That she didn't have to agree just because Samantha had thought this would be a good idea. She still had the paddle and crop, as well as her hands, if she wanted something to discipline Twerp with. She didn't need the punishment strap too.

No-o-o-o-o . . . she really didn't. But Courtney hadn't been blind or oblivious to Twerp already starting to defy Courtney. In little ways, just like Mom had warned she would. And considering how the rest of the day was already planned for her slave, Courtney knew Twerp would only get worse. Indignant and aggrieved at what was happening. And that would only incite her to become worse, not better. Courtney very shrewdly suspected that, if she didn't put her foot down in a very graphic way, she risked loosing more and more of Twerp's respect. And while she'd rather have that out of loyalty and affection, well, if she couldn't inspire obedience that way, she'd sure as heck compel it out of fear.

It had been every bit as terrible as she'd feared. Mom had had her remove her pj bottoms and her panties, then lay, face down, over the padded armrest of one of the couches. Which pushed her tiny rump right up in the air. Simply the position had Courtney cringing and shivering!

She'd literally leapt right off the armrest when the first one licked right across both tiny pert cheeks, howling as she clasped both tiny hands over the fiery burn. It was immeasurably worse then any hairbrushing she'd ever had before! And she sobbed and bawled when Mom had made her go back over for a second one!

Unlike before, with the crop, Courtney didn't relax. Instead she stiffened and tensed, still sobbing. It took everything she had not to blubber and plead, to say she'd changed her mind after all. And if Mom had required a third one, Courtney didn't think she could have stood it.

Even two hours later she could still feel a dull throb where they'd landed. It no longer hurt, and it hadn't welted or anything, but there was no way she could easily forget them, either.

Which was the point, she suspected, as she removed the punishment strap from within the locker where they'd placed it that morning after the demonstration. And after quite a long time of cuddling, Mom holding her close, telling Courtney how proud she was of her brave, strong girl. How proud she was of her for being such an excellent Mistress for her little slave.

Courtney ignored the look of utter panic and terror that suddenly flooded Twerp. She'd brought this on herself, and she had no one but herself to blame for what happened. Steeling herself, Courtney marched over to stand at Twerp's side, a look of absolute, intense determination on her face.

Sasha watched Courtney walk over with that . . . that . . . thing in her hand with out and out horror and dread. She'd seen other things like that down here during her explorations, and had even chosen one like it for her play yesterday. But she'd certainly no desire to experience it for real! Surely Courtney couldn't mean to actually use that! Could she!?

Still in that low, soft, icy voice Courtney said, in an almost purr, "This is called a punishment strap. A slave is about to find out why it is, too."

"No! Courtney, please don't!" Sasha blurted, lifting her head up and staring, petrified, at Courtney, feeling her guts turn to water. Then reeled, shocked speechless when Courtney shrilled, the sound echoing in the room, "Silence! And back into position!" Sasha jerked, freezing. Then with a loud whimper moved back into position.

A picture perfect one at that Courtney noted. And that only made her angrier. Twerp couldn't do it when told to, oh no. She had to be scared in order to obey. OK then. Fine. If that's what it took, so be it.

Taking a deep breath she lowered her voice back down. "I'm tired of a slave's crap," she growled. "I keep giving a slave chances cuz I know she's unhappy with things and doesn't like everything that's happening. Well, tough," she spat. "Instead of a slave being grateful to her Mistress, she just keeps trying to push and push and push," Courtney snarled, her fluting voice rising at the end, quite emphatic, her anger quite distinctly apparent. Obvious as well was that her patience had finally ended.

"Well, if a slave won't obey out of gratitude and respect," she got out through gritted teeth, "then I'll make sure she obeys out of fear."

Sasha was violently trembling by now, her heart painfully thumping in her chest. She wanted to get up and run. Run far away, as fast as she could. But that wasn't an option and she knew it. So instead she stayed as motionless as possible, as perfectly in position as she could manage, hoping that in doing so Courtney would just be satisfied with scolding, leaving the idea of the punishment strap as a threat for the future.

Courtney couldn't hit her with that thing. She just couldn't! Even as that thought frantically ran around in her head she tensed and braced, closing her eyes and whimpering, literally frozen with fear.

Taking a couple of very deep breaths Courtney struggled for control. She couldn't believe how furious she'd gotten seeing Twerp instantly obey because she was scared rather then simply complying to start with. That angered her far more then she'd expected, all the more so because Courtney didn't want Twerp to be scared. Didn't want her obeying out of fear. Courtney had gotten a bellyful of that on the receiving end, doing things that her cousin made her do because Sasha had backed her against the wall, making Courtney scared to refuse to listen and do what Sasha had wanted. That's what had started this whole mess to begin with: Sasha blackmailing Courtney, having her keep quiet about her explorations out of fear of punishment.

Nor did she really want to hurt her slave, either. Certainly not to the degree that this strap was gonna do. But, as Courtney was already distinctly aware, as intense as that was it would ease and fade, yet still leave a rather lengthy impression and reminder, too.

As soon as she'd seen Twerp just indolently and defiantly lounge and sit instead of kneel Courtney knew she'd have to punish her. Use the strap to make certain sure Twerp understood her error. And it took all her willpower to make herself go through with that, the memory of being strapped herself still very vivid. Heck, she could still feel it! Well, she wasn't any longer uneasy or unsure and, once again, Twerp was the reason for that. Well, her behavior was, anyway. And if it took strapping Twerp to start changing her behavior, then so be it.

Courtney shifted a little until standing precisely where she needed to be at her slave's side. Gazing down she had a perfect view of her uplifted butt, the smooth, pert, firm cheeks already clenching and tightening in horrid anticipation. Mom had had her practice swinging the strap earlier, using a pillow for a target, so she was quite confident of both her accuracy and how hard to swing. Moist pink tonguetip between tiny white teeth Courtney took a deep breath . . . drew her little arm back . . . fixed her gaze on Twerp's quivering rump . . .

Tiny teeth gritted, Courtney swung. Hard.

*CRACK!*

Sounding like a gunshot, the report of the strap impacting against Twerp echoed in the small room. Between the power of the impact, her awkward posture, and the sheer, unexpected fiery agony that instantly exploded in her bottom, Twerp slid forwards, untidily sprawling on her belly. Her eyes flew open, huge as rounded saucers at the fierce burn that erupted in her butt. Her mouth was wide open in a silent howl, but her breath had been momentarily driven from her.

And then slender little arms and legs windmilled, scrabbling for purchase on the smooth tiled floor as she shrieked, her screams reverberating in the room. Scrambling to her feet she danced and hopped, both hands clasped to her bottom, howling and bawling. The fire there seemed to grow and spread, becoming worse, not better, as the seconds passed. It felt like a red-hot swatch had been burned into her butt!

'One potato, two potato, three potato,' Courtney mentally counted, watching Twerp leap about, dancing on her toes, howling at the top of her lungs. When she reached five she held up her small hand, tiny fingers and thumb extended. "A slave has five seconds to be back in position, or she earns extra."

Still bawling Twerp looked at her with terrified, pleading eyes. Courtney simply closed her tiny thumb, then her pinky. Twerp still kept hopping and sobbing. When Courtney had closed all five she reopened her hand again. "That's an extra strapping. Will a slave go for even more?"

Sasha burst into racking sobs at that. She couldn't, she just couldn't! She couldn't take any more! She just couldn't make herself get back into that awful pose, knowing she was gonna get more of those!

But Courtney's grim, stern expression showed her that, if she didn't, somehow, manage to get back down into position she'd be getting way more then just one more. And one was already one too many! Still that burning fire was spreading through her butt!

With a hopeless, despairing, gut-wrenching sob Sasha fell to her knees, just as Courtney had a single finger still extended. She somehow managed to struggle back into position, sobbing harder feeling how exposed, how open and vulnerable, her butt was to that terrible, horrifying strap. She piteously moaned and whimpered and didn't care what she sounded like. Defiance and rebellion were nowhere to be found; they'd locked themselves in a room and refused to even answer the knock.

'Oh wow!' Courtney thought, looking down as Twerp's rear. She'd landed it perfectly, exactly where she'd wanted to, and her huge, sea-gray eyes widened at what she saw.

Almost as wide as her little hand, a stripe of glowing, bright crimson extended across both cheeks, vividly, starkly contrasting against Twerp's smooth, now alabaster skin. Although, not precisely across both cheeks. For Courtney had aimed for, and hit, the dreaded 'sit spot', the sensitive crease right at the bottom of the cheeks and the top of the thighs. She swallowed hard, almost doubling over at the sudden intense jolt that rocked her. At the abrupt flush and heat that surged through her, filling her. Instinctively pressing the heel of a tiny hand very low down on her tummy, easing an odd ache that had unexpectedly appeared there. Her mouth felt suddenly dry, her heart was racing and she didn't know why. A sensation of . . . power . . . of command . . . swelled within her, making her feel a mile high.

And all of that centered on the strap in her hand, and the vivid blazing stripe across her slave's butt.

Twerp was still sobbing, deep gulping ones that racked her body. But she was somehow still staying in position, which really surprised Courtney. She fully intended to give her two, as that was how many Courtney had endured so she figured she had a good idea what that was like. But now, because she took so long getting back down she was supposed to get three. And as much as Courtney found that very interesting to think about doing, she wasn't sure if three was too much for the first time.

Taking a couple of deep breaths Courtney managed to find her voice again. "Listen up slave," she finally got out, seeing Twerp flinch, then cringe and whimper as she spoke. "A slave was going to get just two. And now she's gonna get three. Because a slave got up without permission and took too long getting back down again."

Twerp wailed louder. Three? Ohgawd! I'm gonna die!!

Courtney furiously thought, trying to remember everything Mom had told her already. Not just the words and the meanings, but also how she'd said them too. She sensed this was a very important, perhaps the most important, part of everything that had happened so far, and she didn't want to mess it up.

"Prove to me you've got what it takes," she softly said. "Show me a slave can be proud of both herself and her abilities. Keep your position this time, no matter what, and I'll stop at just the two." Twerp wailed again, knowing that would be impossible. There was just no way she could do that!

Then almost lost before even starting, feeling a powerful tingling jolt rocket through her as Courtney softly murmured, "I know you can do it Twerp. I know you can. Make me proud of my slave."

There was no way she could. She knew it. But, even so, she gritted her teeth, small fingers tightly clenched into small fists. Her little body tensed, vibrating with that strain, knowing even as she did so that tensing up like that was the worst thing to do as it would make the strap feel ten times worse when it hit. But she didn't have a choice; if she didn't brace herself she'd never ever hold still.

Courtney watched as Twerp hardened herself for the next one. As before her upturned butt clenched and tightened and, as before, Courtney found that fascinating. Unlike before, this time another slow, powerfully intense flush of warmth flowed through her as she readied herself.

Again she took a deep breath. Slowly raised her little arm back, her huge dusky eyes this time avidly sparkling and focused on that blazing scarlet stripe crossing Twerp's bottom.

*CRACK!*

The report sounded hideously loud, echoing just as fiercely as before. Twerp's head rocked back, eyes enormous and bulging, her shriek deafening as the impact drove her forwards. Her entire naked little body jerked and bucked, she howled and screamed in pain. She tried, she truly tried, but she couldn't stay in position. Once again she fell forwards, clenched fists pounding on the floor as pure molten agony exploded in her bottom, radiating outwards in waves of blazing fire. It stole her breath away, made her see spots. It took everything she had to keep from leaping back up again and dancing around, to keep from reaching back and rubbing that terrible, fiercely painful fire intensely throbbing across her butt.

And somehow, even as she howled and wailed, keened and shrieked and sobbed, she managed to get back into position. Hot, scalding tears flowed in rivers down her cheeks and face, dripping onto the floor, while snot started dribbling from her nose, but she didn't dare wipe either of them with her hands.

Courtney watched, wide eyed and awed as Twerp struggled, unconsciously rubbing the heel of her tiny hand low down on her tummy while she did. She was feeling awful oddly tingly inside, very warm, and it felt like her insides were humming or vibrating or something. She really didn't think Twerp could hold still but she wanted to give her at least a chance to try. And, although she really hadn't stayed in position, it wasn't for lack of trying.

Deep, hoarse racking sobs shook Twerp, rattling her very bones. She was one very sorry little slave, Courtney figured, her own bottom sympathetically emphasizing with her pain.

She sobbed even louder, wailing, when Courtney said, "A slave was supposed to remain in position . . . and she didn't." She shook even harder, wordless cries and wails of pains. Courtney tipped her small head, watching and listening. She'd expected Twerp to complain or make excuses. Or something. But . . . she didn't.

Boy, that stripe looked flaming! she thought. And indeed it did. Courtney had landed the strap in the exact same place as she had the first, and there was now a vivid, blazing scarlet strip about two inches wide straight across Twerp's cheeks, right over the sit spot, a solid band interrupted only where the crease between the cheeks dipped down.

Slowly lowering her tiny hand, Courtney gently placed it atop the one stripe at Twerp's left cheek, feeling her immediately jerk at the contact. 'Oh my!' she thought, 'this feels as hot as asphalt does in the summer sun!'

It certainly did, too. But, to Twerp, Courtney's tiny hand felt very cool. Soothingly so. She actually pushed up against her hand once she'd gotten over being startled, desperately seeking that soothing coolness. She nodded, still deeply sobbing, when Courtney murmured, "Feels good?"

Well, Mom had rubbed her bottom after the strapping calibration. And although hers hadn't been for punishment and Twerp's had, Courtney didn't see any reason not to also rub Twerp's. This time. Very lightly, very gently, Courtney glided her tiny, smooth soft hand back and forth over that vivid, blazing scarlet stripe. She didn't say a word while she did, nor did she say anything for the next several minutes, while Twerp's sobs gradually eased into hiccups and sniffles.

Stepping back, Courtney walked around to Twerp's front. "Nadu," she said, watching as Twerp struggled to kneel upright, wincing in pain as her flaming, throbbing cheeks settled down atop her heels. "I'm really very proud of my slave," she finally said, having gazed at her for several seconds.

Twerp actually blinked, startled and astonished, darting a surprised glance up at Courtney before abruptly dropping her eyes again.

"No, I really am," Courtney reassured. "I didn't think a slave could stay still so I wasn't surprised when she didn't. I also didn't think she'd do as good as she did. And Twerp, you did do very good. I'm very proud of you." And Courtney sincerely was, and it was obvious in her voice.

Her face was a mess, eyes puffy and bloodshot from crying, face soaked with tears and snot dripping from her nose. Her bottom was still on fire, in incredible agony that pulsed with molten fire with every throb of her heartbeat. Yet at Courtney's words and tone she almost doubled over as a tingle so intense, feeling like an electrified pitchfork had been jabbed deep in her tummy, erupted inside her. That massive tingle radiated outwards in shimmering waves of warmth, until her hair felt like it was standing on end and her toes prickled. Small, puffy, pale pink nipples abruptly tightened, puckering into tiny nubs.

Courtney's eyes widened first in surprise then in delighted awe. 'Oh my!' she thought, 'Look at that!'

Her tingles grew even more as Courtney continued. "You didn't even argue or make excuses Twerp, complaining it was impossible to stay still. You didn't even plead or beg. You did exactly what you were told to do, as best as you could. I'm impressed. And very proud, too."

A slow flush crept downwards from Twerp's cheeks, extending to the tops of small, firm nascent breasts. She had done pretty good, now that Courtney had pointed that out. She hadn't thought she could do it at all, and had felt like a total weak failure when she'd collapsed into a bawling mess. But she had struggled back up even as her bottom was in agony. And Courtney, instead of looking at that as a failure, considered it a great accomplishment!

"Since you didn't speak, didn't argue or make excuses, and since you did the very best you could," Courtney stated, "I'm going to cancel the third one."

Twerp burst into tears again, sobbing almost as hard as she had right after being strapped. Only, this time they were from relief and not pain. Courtney padded over to the locker, replacing the punishment strap inside, then returned with a handful of soft tissue paper. She'd needed a mess of them after Mom had strapped her so she'd been certain Twerp would need them too. She handed them to her slave, telling her to blow her nose and wipe her eyes, then patiently waited for her to do that, and for her newest weeping to ease.

"Listen up carefully Twerp," Courtney said, once her slave had finished blowing and blotting. "This doesn't have to be bad or awful you know." Twerp looked up, eyes still puffy, her expression one of misery and disbelieve. Anguish, too, as her butt was still terribly throbbing, radiating intense waves of fire and pain outwards from the stripe the strap had made. "It's really pretty easy: do what you're told to do, or not. If you do, things can get real nice real quick. There's lots of stuff I can use to play with you down here. And that's not even counting the things I can do upstairs with you either. And don't give me that look," Courtney firmly chided, seeing Twerp appear as if she found nothing nice about any type of potential play. "Not when I can see your nipples like they are right now."

Like flicking on a light switch Twerp instantly flushed a hot bright crimson all the way down past her chest. If anything Courtney got even more piqued at that. "Jeez Twerp! There's nothing wrong about liking to play some of this stuff! C'mon!" she rolled her eyes in exasperation. "I don't think you're sick or weird or anything, and neither does Mom. Different, yes," then she shrugged small shoulders, dismissing that as being important or meaningful in any way, "but so what? Better different and exciting then the same old stuff that's boring."

Twerp deeply shivered as Courtney removed the riding crop from her dainty gold chain belt. Then softly gasped, unable to keep from pushing her chest forwards as Courtney very gently brushed the leather popper tip over tiny hard nipples. Tight peaks that puckered even more at the shivery, tingly sensation that inspired. Courtney obviously knew how that made her feel when she did that, she could see her eyes sparkling even brighter as she watched. She looked (and was) absolutely delighted at how her slave was responding.

"You like being tied up. Like being touched and played with," Courtney simply announced. "And I like doing all that to you, too." Twerp swallowed hard, wondering if Courtney liking that was a good thing or a bad thing. She didn't have to wonder about how she felt about it, though. Or, more accurately, how her body did. For, even now, those very light, circling brushes across her nipples had abruptly ignited intense shivery tingles. Even with the throbbing awful pain in her butt those tingles blazed forth, refusing to be denied.

"And you like being a slave, too. Oh, I know," she made a dismissive gesture with a tiny hand, as if brushing that aside while ignoring Twerp's sudden expression of disbelieve and denial, "if you could talk you'd tell me I was wrong. You'd say a whole buncha stuff to prove you didn't want to be a slave." Courtney then started, very lightly, just flicking the popper of the crop right across the very tips of Twerp's tiny hard peaks. And every tap brought forth a soft swift inhale, resulted in Twerp's small chest being shudderingly pushed out.

"What you don't like isn't being a slave, it's having to follow rules you don't like. Being made to do things you think are silly or stupid or mean. You'd like it better if you had all the fun stuff and none of the work or hard stuff. Well Twerp, it doesn't work that way. And it doesn't matter if you like stuff or not, you're just gonna do them. Or else."

Twerp really didn't need 'or else' explained, not when sheer agony was still throbbing in her bottom.

And then she froze again, literally whimpered as Courtney's expression, which had been mild, kind and understanding - even sympathetic - through her talk abruptly changed, becoming very cold, stern and forbidding. "And you also don't like that you're my slave. That I'm your Mistress," she stated in a terrible voice, as cold as frozen helium. She'd never heard her cousin sound like that, and it was every bit as scary as hearing her Aunt sounding like that!

"Well, I am your Mistress," Courtney coldly stated. "and my slave had better start remembering that! And that's not gonna change just because you don't like or want that, because I want and like being your Mistress." Twerp sharply gasped as Courtney sharply struck each nipple once when she said 'want' and 'like'. Courtney hadn't meant to do that. Not intentionally, they just sorta happened that way. But the effect was startling. For both of them. For Twerp's gasps, for all they were soft cries, weren't sounds of pain or hurt. And each one, immediately after the sting of impact, sent intense tingles racing through Twerp.

Courtney was quite astonished, so much so she lost her train of thought and the thread of her talk. Staring quite intently, gleaming huge gray eyes utterly focused on those twin hard peaks she brought the crop back . . .

*POP!* *PIP!*

Neither were soft and gentle. Neither were light little flicks. Both were sharp, full pops right across each one, leaving a bright pink area centered over each.

And both had Twerp cry out, a very odd, soft breathy gasped inhale that was a combination of shock, pain . . . and something else.

Twerp stared up at Courtney, her huge eyes filled with tears, glimmering in the lights, rounded to enormous saucers, stunned into disbelief at the powerful tingles evoked at that. They had hurt! Not a mild little sting, but had hurt! But they hadn't just hurt.

Oh my! Courtney thought yet once again, just as stunned as Twerp felt. Her tiny pink tonguetip swiped across small full lips, even as her tummy felt ever so much more achier.

Twerp badly wanted to reach around and rub that intense throbbing burn at her nipples. But with the memory of the strapping still fresh in her mind - and her butt - she didn't dare move. Yet within a few seconds that pain seemed to . . . metamorphosis into something other then just pain. As if the tingles didn't ease, soothe or eliminate the pain, but merged with it instead. And in that blending the tingles became even more powerful.

Courtney, meanwhile, was dealing with an epiphany of her own. This entire episode had started, and had only been intended, as an instructional lesson for her slave. To make vividly clear her errors, and what she could expect in the future should she continue to displease and disobey. But ever since she'd landed that first shot with the strap, ever since she'd seen what that did, seen how Twerp reacted, what she sounded like . . . her insides as started to jitter and thrum. An odd tingly ache that she'd felt now and then during the last day, in fact. Except they felt sharper this time, stronger. Had grown even fiercer when she'd started lightly cropping Twerp's nipples, watching them grow tauter and harder. Watching as Twerp shifted from moaning and sniffling in pain to something rather different.

Courtney was starting to feel rather breathless, and while it wasn't at all unpleasant it was unlike anything she'd quite felt before. Her eyes flickered over to the locker where she'd stowed the punishment strap, not realizing her tiny tonguetip once again glided over her small full lips. Twerp's eyes cut that way, too, when she noticed Courtney looking that way, then she deeply shivered and softly whimpered.

Whimpers that grew louder when Courtney returned her gaze to her slave. Because her eyes widened in awed shock at what she saw.

Despite all her terrified dread of the strap, in spite of very clearly and unmistakably feeling, right at that very moment, what that strap could and did do, Twerp's nipples remained rock-hard tiny points. Unlike how they had been at the start, and during, her first strapping.

"Oh my!' Courtney whispered, her tone so very soft, awed and reverent.

Both girls deeply shivered. Twerp, because she could distinctly tell that Courtney wanted to strap her some more, and Courtney because she suddenly realized she wanted to strap her slave some more.

Not because she'd disobeyed or displeased. Not because she'd defied or rebelled. But for no other reason then she wanted to do that.

Courtney's tiny body sharply jerked yet again at the blinding understanding and acceptance that, as Twerp's Mistress, she could just strap her slave again, and for no other reason then she wanted to do that. She actually took a little step towards that locker, her feet acting as if they had a mind of their own. And hearing Twerp's dismayed, frightened whimpered moan didn't check her desire, it actually increased it.

Courtney visibly struggled for a few moments, then took a deep breath before looking back at Twerp. Tiny fingers fumbled replacing the crop, she almost dropped the leash removing it from her thin belt. "I . . . I think I should . . . store my slave now," she managed to get out. "Leash."

Twerp scrambled to her feet, wincing and softly crying out at the pain in her bottom as she moved. She didn't play around, didn't do anything but immediately assume a perfect leash position. Not with the odd, gleaming way Courtney's eyes were brightly sparkling and glittering. And not when still sharply feeling that hot burning swath scorched across her butt!

Nor did she do anything other then follow along meekly and docilely . . . also with perfect carriage. It was with a distinct sense of relief that she crawled back into her cage, as if coming home to a safe haven of sorts. Not even having her hands cuffed behind her back and her ankles cuffed together were distressing, as long as she was far, far away from that terrifying strap. Although she would rather have had her hands free, since it was extremely difficult to rub that still-throbbing, burning stripe with her hands cuffed together like that.

Wriggling a little she got as comfy as possible, breathing a heavy, deep sigh of relief once Courtney had left. For a long, ghastly moment there she'd thought Courtney was going to get that punishment strap again and have her go back into the extended kneel for punishment position. Courtney had certainly been right about that: Sasha could certainly see why it was called that!

And she never wanted to get strapped again, either. Although . . .

Sasha was horribly confused . . . again. For all that she'd been utterly alarmed and terrified, both before and during the strapping, she hadn't really been panicky. And, although she hadn't really been conscious of it right at that moment, those tingles had gotten a bit sharper, too. She wasn't at all sure why or how, only that it was. Something about the dreadful implacability of the situation, something about knowing she was utterly trapped, helpless to change anything, just made those tingles appear.

She'd most definitely been incapable of overlooking them once Courtney had started flicking her crop over Sasha's nipples. But that hadn't been the most astonishingly surprising part. No, that award was left to what had happened when Courtney had painfully cropped each nipple. And it had been painful, too! That had brought tears to Sasha's eyes, took her breath away for a moment. But, no more then heartbeats later that immediate pain had somehow . . . changed. Shifted. Even now Sasha could feel the residual tingles gently throbbing at her nipples. Still hard, erect and puckered nipples.

How could that happen? How could something that hurt also feel nice? Was something wrong with her? Inside? Was she a freak or something? She badly wished she had someone she could ask about that. Right now she'd risk being gagged if she just had the chance to blurt out her plea to ask that question.

Closing her eyes she tried to rest and recover. But she knew she was doomed to failure in at least one regard. Her tingles weren't going to fade and disappear this time. Not with that fire still resonating at her butt. Or the more milder, gentler ones at her nipples. And most certainly not with her hands and feet locked secure to each other, while she lay sprawled, naked and collared, stored away in her locked cage.

This had been a long morning already, she realized with dismay, and somehow she suspected the rest of the day would seem even longer.