Normally Marcie cheerfully hummed while she worked; well, at least when she worked on crafts - compared to, for example, housework, which usually had her darkly muttering - as she enjoyed making them. A lot, actually. She often joked it was a form of therapy to fashion and create things.

Moreover, up to five minutes ago, she'd been happily humming. Just as she had been since yesterday afternoon when she'd first started working on her newest order. By now she'd already finished several of the easier items, and off to one side were sets of normal wrist and ankle cuffs, as well as a suspension set, all of them padded in close-trimmed lambs wool fleece. In addition there was also a pair of overhead suspension, padded and fur-lined, grip cuffs.

Although the order hadn't specified lockable roller buckles (ones where the buckle tongue was flattened rather then rounded, and perforated with a hole for a padlock) Marcie had used them anyway. They weren't all that much more expensive, and she'd thought they'd be a nice touch. Besides, from what she remembered - and she had a very good memory where certain things were concerned . . . like BDSM - Mistress Samantha liked having her cuffs and restraints lockable.

Each set had been carefully cut to size from tanned, black-dyed, supple leather, the edges and ends rounded and polished. The padding and fleece were both bonded and hand-stitched in place, and the buckles and D-rings carefully - and expertly - riveted. And, of course, the holes for the buckles were oval punched rather then circular, to permit proper passage of the locking tongues.

Marcie had thought, as she'd worked on them, they'd looked rather small and diminutive. In fact, she hadn't had any in stock anywhere near that small and, rather then trim down ones she already had on hand, had decided to just make them from Jump Street.

The finished ankle cuffs wouldn't even fit her wrists. Marcie had simply shrugged at that, though. She wasn't, by any means, a petite woman, and it wasn't hard to accept that someone might have such tiny, delicate wrists and ankles. The bitch, she jokingly thought.

Marcie was not, and probably never would be, thin. At five foot five and one hundred and eighty pounds, thin simply wasn't in her future. But she carried her weight well, and the few people that actually knew her true weight were quite startled.

She petted Aphrodite, who was currently curled atop her lap, 'helping' Marcie with her work. In front of her, half-completed and spread out on the table, was the latest of the ordered items: a single-sleeve, arm glove binder. The body was made of black-dyed, very supple kidskin, while the straps were thicker; not quite belt-thick, but sturdy nevertheless. She still had to make, then attach, the hand-pouch section, then attach both the heavy duty, self-mending metal zipper and the grometted overflap panel sides for the lacing. And the straps needed the buckles riveted in place, too, and holes punched in them for the buckle tongue.

However, that wasn't why Marcie had stopped humming. Or sat there half-consciously petting Aphrodite. Those were perfectly normal, routine and familiar tasks.

No. No, the reason Marcie had stopped humming, and was now thoughtfully frowning as she stared at the arm binder, was because of its size.

That, and the sheet of square-gridded graph paper also in front of her. Graph paper where she'd just painstakingly hand-plotted out an androgynous human figure, based upon the measurements she'd been provided for the items.

Now, had she only the measurements and sizes for only one or two things - for instance, only for cuffs, or only for a hood - Marcie might not have even noticed the discrepancy. But she had rather comprehensive measurements and sizes covering head to foot: the hood, cuffs, body and chastity harnesses gave everything she'd needed to rough plot out the figure size of the person being fitted.

Although she was, by no means, an artist, she was familiar with typical, normal human proportions. Part of that was simply from her experience from making and fashioning the wares she did, of course. But she'd also taken drawing classes several years ago, to better help her more easily create new pattern designs, and could readily recall certain things from those classes.

A normal adult, for instance, was approximately eight 'heads' tall, while a pre-teen was six and a third, and a pre-school child four and a half 'heads' tall. An adult's upper and lower legs (that is, thighs and calves) were roughly two and a quarter 'heads' long, while a pre-teen's were one and two-thirds, with a pre-schooler's being only one and an eighth 'heads' long.

Even more dramatic were the shoulder proportions, for shoulder size and width changed dramatically with age. A pre-schooler's shoulders were only about one and two-thirds 'head'-widths apart, while a pre-teen's shoulders were two and a third. And an adult's were a full three 'head'-widths apart!

So, no. She couldn't be mistaken. Not with the wealth and complexity of measurements and sizes she'd been furnished. It couldn't even be for someone suffering from dwarfism, for the proportions didn't match that, either.

"Mwrow!" Aphrodite headbutted Marcie's hand, imperiously demanding more attention and pets. "Sorry sweetie," Marcie softly apologized, brushing her fingers down Aphrodite's back, eliciting a low rumbling purr from her.

While she petted her cat - which Marcie had also, long ago, discovered was therapeutic - she pondered her conclusions. The items, for a certainty, could not be for any normal sized adult, for they were much too small. Nor did they seem appropriate for an abnormally sized adult, for, again, the proportions were incorrect. They were bigger then for a preschooler, and smaller then an adolescent, but just about the right size for a preteen.

For a preteen girl, at that. For the chastity harness was most certainly for a female, and not a male.

Could all this be for Courtney, she wondered? Marcie certainly remembered the child from her previous visits. A quiet, polite and smart-as-a-whip, tiny little snip of a girl. She'd be, what? Eight? Nine? From what Marcie recalled, these would still be overlarge for her, unless she'd shot up like a major weed in the last year.

But who else could they be for? she wondered.

And why?

Actually, the 'why' was more puzzling to her then the 'who'. It was, she supposed, distantly possible that Mistress Samantha wanted these for curiosity or display pieces. They'd be, after all, much easier to transport to parties and conventions then full-sized ones would be. However, if that were the case, then why put such a rush priority on them?

She looked at the calendar and noted the date. Again, if memory correctly served her, hadn't school summer vacation only just started a week or so ago? Did that have any bearing on things?

Again she looked at her drawn, sketched figure, then at the completed restraints and partially-finished arm binder. In all the years she'd known Mistress Samantha, Marcie had never seen or heard anything that would indicate she had an interest in children. Oh, age-play yes. But not real children, no.

Granted, Marcie hardly expected anyone that did have that interest to just casually banter that about.

On the one hand Marcie, much like Mistress Samantha, sometimes whiled away idle hours daydreaming if-only-I-knew-then-what-I-know-now. For - again like Mistress Samantha - Marcie, too, had enjoyed playing tie-up games as a girl, and quite often wondered what things might have been like had she'd only known then what she did now. She knew this much for certain: had she found someone, back then, in the lifestyle, she would have happily and eagerly wanted to have been trained as a slave by them.

And, while she hadn't ever directly asked others, from conversations with them she had a pretty shrewd guess that more then a few felt the same way. So-o-o-o-o . . . on the one hand, she didn't have a problem if Mistress Samantha was really teaching her daughter some things. Because Marcie knew, beyond any doubt, Mistress Samantha would only do that if Courtney wanted it. Had asked for it.

No one that had ever spent any time with Mistress Samantha could ever mistake the deep and utter love she had for her child. So there was simply no way on Earth, or above or below, that she'd require or force Courtney into this. Hell, for that matter, even coax her into it. No. No, the only way would be if Courtney, herself, had asked.

Of course, that then beggared the question of how and why Courtney had asked. Had she been innocently experimenting on her own, and discovered by her Mom? Well, if that had been what happened, at least Courtney wouldn't have been critically humiliated by her Mom.

Unlike what had happened to Marcie as a child who, when her parents had caught Marcie in her bedroom where she'd tied and gagged herself for fun, had made her feel like a sick, perverted freak.

Even now, twenty-one years later, just the memory of that day made her feel intensely sick to her stomach. For years after that she'd felt like a pervert, yet couldn't stop thinking the thoughts she did, couldn't stop the feelings she felt when she had those thoughts. And, even now, there were times she questioned her sanity.

She owed much of her recovery to Mistress Samantha herself. She'd been very patient and kind. Resolute when firmness was needed, and gentle when kindness was needed.

So, no, Marcie didn't think, for a moment, that if Courtney had been caught playing tie-up - either on her own or with playmates - that Mistress Samantha would have embarrassed her over that. No, she would have sat down with her daughter and patiently started explaining things to her.

So, that might be the explanation, Marcie reasoned. Or, and far less likely, the scamp somehow managed to get into the playroom, or accidentally saw something she shouldn't have seen. Peace in the Middle East was more likely then that, for Mistress Samantha was extremely careful to be discreet and private when her daughter was about.

Running her fingers down the silky fur of Aphrodite Marcie leaned back, still pondering. Oddly enough, Marcie discovered she wasn't as disturbed at the thought of Courtney being taught and/or trained as she thought she'd be. Granted, it was still a child (and Marcie had rather strong, if unrequited - so far - maternal instincts). But . . . if this was something she really and truly wanted?

Heck, Marcie would have turned cartwheels and squealed in delight had someone made that offer to her at that age. Someone that understood her feelings? Accepted them??

Softly chuckling to herself Marcie started stitching the single sleeve glove, apologizing to Aphrodite at disturbing her. If all this really was for Courtney, well, then, she was a very lucky and fortunate girl, and Marcie envied her a great deal!

Sasha really didn't want to move. Not at all. Which was a very good thing, she wryly thought, considering she was stored away again in her cage.

She hadn't immediately been stored, but had been held and cuddled for a long time after her second orgasm. And it was a good thing Courtney had asked her Mom to carry Sasha, for she didn't think she could have walked. Not without falling all over the place, anyway!

Those had been exquisitely marvelous feelings! Even now she lightly shivered at the memory of them. She was utterly grateful to her Aunt for reassuring Sasha that everything was fine, and was even more grateful to Courtney for permitting Sasha to ask questions! Otherwise she didn't think she would feel as relaxed and accepting about those orgasm feelings, remembering how scary that had felt her first time.

Now that the last of the afterglow had faded, Sasha was aware of how tender her butt was. Not painfully so, no. And not really even sore or achy. Just quite sensitive, and Sasha knew why.

She'd been paddled in a way she'd never ever been paddled before. And had certainly responded to that far differently then she ever had before, too! Oh, she'd still struggled and squealed, yes indeed. Even at the time it hadn't been, well, pleasant.

But it hadn't hurt, either. Well, that wasn't quite true. It just hadn't hurt like it had all the other times. And it hadn't just hurt, either. Which had been terribly confusing!

Well, now she had a better understanding why that was so. She might not have understood most of what her Aunt had said, but she understood the most important part, at least where she was concerned, and that was, at times, something painful could feel pleasurable too. And while that still didn't make any sense to her, Sasha assuredly couldn't deny what she'd felt at the time.

The only worrisome part of that whole lesson was discovering that she could, as a slave, be trained - conditioned - to desire pain over pleasure. To want - crave - being hurt rather then excited and pleasured. And, although she really couldn't see how that was possible, she accepted that as nothing but the pure truth, too.

It sure didn't help any that Courtney seemed fascinated now with paddling her. Well, paddling, strapping, cropping and lashing, too, she mentally corrected, unable to keep from gently squirming at the memories. Sasha had always equated spankings and paddlings with misdeeds, disobedience and punishments, and never something that was done, well, just for the heck of it!

But all that could be done 'just for the heck of it'. Simply because Courtney wanted to do it, and for no other reason. And Sasha couldn't say or do anything about that.

What would she do, what could she do, if Courtney decided to have her trained that way?

Nothing. That's what.

A sob built up in her chest, about to burst free, when suddenly, like a soap bubble being popped, it vanished. Courtney could have had Sasha trained to squirm at just a word, she remembered, but had decided against doing that. Was this, then, any different? Sasha nibbled her full, soft lower lip as she considered that. It . . . didn't seem different to Sasha, no. And she doubted it would seem different to Courtney either.

Well, she hoped so, anyway.

That still didn't mean Courtney wouldn't just have fun paddling her time and time again though, just to make her squirm, just to make her squeal and struggle.

Oh, what was she to do!?

Sasha still hadn't figured that answer out when Courtney returned, looking quite cheerful and bouncy. She wasn't carrying a tray or bowls, so she didn't think it was lunchtime yet. And, as she also couldn't think of anyway she'd been disobedient, Sasha didn't think lunch was going to be denied her. So, what could it be? More training? More play? More . . . she gulped . . . paddlings and stuff?

She scurried out on hands and knees when Courtney unlocked the back of the cage and told her to crawl out. Then stood in 'Leash' at seeing the leash in Courtney's hand. Then meekly followed, this time in picture-perfect posture as Courtney started walking off.

They didn't go far, just up to the second room on the left up from the cell room, where all the exercise equipment was, and the kitchen and laundry too.

And the tanning bed, Sasha remembered, as Courtney stopped next to it. For a moment Sasha forgot, then abruptly dropped to her knees, as she hadn't verbally been told to follow and so was supposed to kneel when coming to a stop. She hoped Courtney understood it was a true goof, and not an act of defiance or rebellion, for Sasha really didn't want another paddling or strapping any time soon!

"I've given it some thought Twerp," Courtney said, "and I've decided how I want my slave tanned."

No matter that she feared a paddling, that set Sasha on edge, once again graphically reminded she was considered nothing more then Courtney's property! Her grass-green eyes glittered with impotent anger, and she bit her tongue to keep from saying a word.

"I think you'll look pretty awesome tanned all over," Courtney continued and, even through her anger, Sasha found herself intrigued. One good thing out of that would be her ability to preen around her girl classmates, showing off just how far down her tan really went, and teasing them about having so much white skin left. They'd be so jealous of Sasha!

"It's a twenty minute bed, so that means you get to lie down inside for twenty minutes," Courtney explained. "'Cept to start, today it'll only be ten, until we see how you respond. I don't want you getting a burn or anything."

Well, Sasha was happy to hear that, as she didn't want a sunburn either!

"Every day for the next seven to ten days, until your tan is how I want it to look," Courtney said - and again Sasha turned mulish and sulky at that. Indeed! How Courtney wanted it to look!? - "I'll have my slave tan. After that, just a day or two a week should keep you tanned like I want."

At that Courtney punched out the code to the lock holding the tanning bed door closed, then lifted it up with a soft grunt. "Climb up," she told Sasha, and Sasha heard it for the order it was. Muttering to herself, but mindful not to make a sound doing so, Sasha slithered up, onto, then into the tanning bed. Before she could lie back, Courtney held out a small pair of goggles. "Put these on Twerp, so you don't hurt your eyes."

Silently taking them from Courtney Sasha slipped them on over her eyes. They were rather small, which was a good thing, she thought as she finally lay down on her back. Because otherwise she'd look awful weird and goofy having two round, stark white patches over her eyes!

And then she abruptly sat upright, little fingers brushing against the collar at her throat, then staring wide-eyed at the cuffs around wrists and ankles before staring at Courtney. "Oh poop!" Courtney said, looking sheepish, "I almost forgot about those!" Sasha sighed with relief as Courtney started unlocking and removing the cuffs.

But that was all she removed, stepping back after taking those four off but leaving the collar still on.

"Mmmm?" Sasha softly whined, having tried - and failed - catching Courtney's attention by silently shaking and jerking her head.

Courtney just gave Sasha a firm, hard look. "The collar stays on," she bluntly said. "Don't even, ever, think about it coming off. Understand?"

Sasha swallowed, hard, at the sudden intense firmness of Courtney's voice. A moment of rebuttal rose . . . the vanished. Unlike the cuffs, or anything else they might put on Sasha, that collar had a very special, very particular meaning. And she knew it, too.

It marked her as a slave. As Courtney's slave, to be precise. And it wasn't going to ever come off until the very last day of summer.

But she was going to look so ridiculous being a nice golden bronze all over - and she knew it would be all over, too! - except for a dazzling white circle around her neck! Couldn't Courtney understand that!?

Courtney did, of course, understand. Although she wasn't about to inform her slave she did. She still hadn't figured out just what she might do about it; she could always, she supposed, have Twerp tan for a straight week without the collar right at the end of summer vacation. Although, to be honest, that thought didn't appeal to her. Having the collar off, that is. One way or another Courtney would figure something out. And she knew that, whatever it was that she finally decided, Mom would simply go along with her decision.

It wasn't until Courtney meaningfully tapped the riding crop hanging from her little gold chain belt that Sasha finally swallowed and lay back. She wasn't at all happy about this now but, once again, that didn't seem to matter.

Courtney carefully lowered the lid down, then set the timer for ten minutes. According to Mom, some people showed visible signs of tanning after only two sessions, and Courtney was curiously eager to find out of Twerp was one of them.

Part of her wanted to keep Twerp her normal, fair, pale, creamy complexion. For the simple reason her blushes showed up quite vivid in comparison . . . as did her paddled butt! But she also enjoyed, a great deal, the idea and concept that she could 'decorate' her slave however she pleased, and Courtney really didn't have all that many options at her disposal. Tanning was one of them, though, and so she decided to tan her slave.

Today was being ever so much more fun then the last two days had been! Even if she hadn't had a chance to spank Twerp with all the things she'd wanted to use. Considering Courtney had had to be calibrated beforehand with them, she was rather eager to get her own licks in, as it were.

Well, there was heaps more she could still do, and lots more Twerp needed to be shown and introduced to. And, after her tanning session, then a quick shower and lunch, she was gonna start learning lots more stuff!

Samantha sat at the kitchen table, cradling her coffee mug between her hands. She wished she had someone to confide in, someone to talk to. But, she didn't. And couldn't, even if she had.

The line she'd known had existed, and feared walking over, had indeed been crossed. There was simply no way, any longer, events could be interpreted as simply a rather rigid, strict punishment. No way certain things could be viewed as merely a more 'advanced' form of 'playing doctor'.

Crossed, that line certainly had been, and Samantha couldn't see any way of returning. Not now.

It might take days (although Samantha highly doubted it would take even that long) but, soon enough, Twerp would start yearning to feel the things she'd felt this morning. And, as she - as a slave - was prohibited from self-touching, there'd be only one outlet for relief. How long it would take any remaining inhibitions to yield before then Samantha wasn't positive. But, she was sure it would happen.

And that wasn't even considering Courtney who, at the moment, was like a yearling colt ready to go galloping across the paddock. Samantha didn't see any real way of reining that enthusiasm in and, as Twerp was her slave, unless Courtney wanted to do something harmful, Samantha couldn't even restrict Courtney's wishes.

On top of that was Twerp herself. She was, finally, starting to understand and accept her own budding, blossoming desires. Granted, off the top of her head Samantha couldn't think of any other person who, as a child, went in less then two weeks from first discovery to full-blown involvement. But that's what had happened to Twerp, and truly, her only real resistance and rebellion had been against the rules, and not so much against what was being done.

Well, for the most part, anyway.

The only real way to put on the brakes would be to bring things to a complete halt. Which would infuriate Courtney - and rightly so - and do nothing at all to curb or abate Twerp's budding, developing sexuality.

And sexuality it was, and no way Samantha could spin doctor that. This went beyond a childish game to her. Beyond a fascination or attraction. The problem was, as Samantha saw it, was that she'd never really had time to discern just how deep that allure went, how much a part of her nature it truly had been. And she was well aware that, as the training continued, it would be difficult, if not impossible, to determine if how Twerp was responding was because of her own, innate desires being carefully cultivated and matured, or if those desires had been, instead, implanted and inculcated in her.

It was that old argument all over again: nature versus nurture. Was being submissive Twerp's true nature? Or was that slowly being implanted inside her? That same question could be put forth regarding how she responded to being bound. Although, there, Samantha did have some reasonable proof that Twerp already was predisposed to getting excited and aroused by that. She'd certainly been when Samantha had first discovered her Friday morning!

Elbows braced atop the table Samantha lowered her face into her palms and groaned. Ruth didn't need any additional aggravations or complications in her life right now! How was she going to explain all this to her sister?

Ruth? Hey listen. As you know Sasha's been turning into a rather obnoxious brat. I know it's not your fault, but I also know neither of us wants her growing up that way either. So, since she stumbled into my hidden playroom - you know, the one I've never told you about? - I decided to punish her by making her a slave all summer. And everything's just fine now. She's quite polite, well mannered and obedient . . . and also gets horny as Hell at the thought of being bound and gagged. Oh, did I mention she gets off on being spanked and paddled now, too?

Oh my yes, wouldn't that be a fun conversation!

And just what was going to happen at the end of the summer? Somehow Samantha couldn't envision Twe . . . Sasha simply going home, happy as a lark at having all this come to an abrupt, screeching halt. Never being tied up again. Never being played with again.

She'd known, known, damn it, that once this Pandora's Box was opened there was no closing the lid again! There was no way anyone could expect Sasha to simply turn everything back off and return to how she was. That was as asinine to expect happening as demanding an adolescent to slip backwards through puberty and become a child again!

Samantha could always promise Sasha that she'd have all this again next summer, even if only for a month. But that wasn't going to help, either. Ask her to go an entire nine months before she could experience any of this again? And, after that month, have to wait an entire eleven months until the time after that? She didn't know too many adults with that sort of patience.

Ruth was going to kill her, Samantha knew. And she couldn't blame her at all.

And none of this was even touching yet another raw wound, and that was how Samantha was reacting to things.

Logically she was cognizant that Sasha was her niece. That hadn't changed, and never would. But what had changed was how she'd been looking at Twerp, the slave.

It had been a slow, gradual metamorphosis, but one as implacable as the changing of the seasons. From an innocent, ingenue brat to a sensual, erotic, sexy slave. Samantha couldn't help now, most times, at getting turned on when she looked at Twerp. Couldn't help wanting to touch and caress, tease and fondle. Hell, spank and paddle, bind and plug, too!

Had there been a touch of that, even days ago? she wondered. Had she ordered all those things strictly for Twerp, or as much for Courtney and herself as for the slave? Samantha really didn't know, and couldn't even begin to guess. Head still cradled in her hands Samantha wryly chuckled. At least Courtney didn't mind sharing her 'toy', it seemed. Now, wouldn't that be a fine kettle of fish, if Courtney started getting possessively jealous and wanted to keep her slave all to herself?

The Aunt was battling with the Mistress, and the Mistress was using every dirty trick she knew. More and more Samantha felt her iron resolve rusting and crumbling away with every passing second.

And up to now Twerp had been mostly stored in her cage. What was she going to do, to feel, now that the little slave was going to be out and about, and played with more often?

Sasha let the pounding warm spray beat against her upturned face. Her muscles were still sore and achy, but the morning exercises had, at least, loosened the stiffness up a lot. She'd much rather be soaking in a steamy, hot tub of water but . . . as it wasn't her choice . . .

And it didn't help knowing that, just on the other side of that wall was, not only a huge bathtub, but a whirlpool Jacuzzi too!

Still and all, this beat being chained to the wall and scrubbed down with ice water. Sasha had never forgotten that warning, and wasn't ever likely to do so either.

The tanning bed had felt very nice, made her skin feel so warm all over. She would have enjoyed it a whole lot more, though, if she hadn't had to wear this stinky collar while tanning.

Huge emerald eyes tightly closed against the spray beating down Sasha pensively frowned at that thought. She hardly ever noticed the collar any more. Which was awful weird, considering it was quite sturdy and a good half pound or more of steel. About the only times she was conscious of it being locked around her neck was when she showered and actually wound up touching it.

The cuffs were a little harder to ignore, since she could actually see them. But, those, too, she frequently overlooked, unless in her immediate attention . . . like when they were locked together and binding her.

The same went for her lack of clothing. Or, perhaps better described as 'enforced nudity'. It had been very difficult, that first day, to keep from blushing like a sunset the entire time, since she was very starkly conscious of being naked. Sasha supposed that, if they'd made an issue out of that, like, perhaps, teasing her about being naked the whole time, she'd still feel mortified and ashamed.

But, they hadn't. And, in fact, it didn't even seem as if they noticed she was naked!

And again, unless certain things prompted her to actually notice it - like going to take a shower and realizing she didn't have to get undressed first - Sasha had stopped being conscious of her nakedness.

Was she really getting used to things like they said she would? she wondered. Or was she actually being brainwashed and indoctrinated? It was impossible to tell for sure one way or the other. And, in the end, it didn't really matter, for the result was the same: slowly yet surely Sasha was starting to adapt.

Somehow, even though she'd fought, struggled and resisted, she was adapting.

Turning around she let the pounding water beat against achy shoulders and back. Adapting in some areas, she grudgingly admitted, but certainly not in others! There was more to life then her existing merely to please Courtney, Mistress or no!

Although, she even more reluctantly conceded, it probably couldn't and wouldn't hurt to be nice to her now and then.

She wished she could have asked more questions earlier this morning. She'd had so many she really wanted answered. But at least she'd managed to ask the really important ones - which was good, because she was no longer permitted to speak again - and had been much relieved at the replies.

Stunned, too, at some of them. Like finding out her Aunt got wet and stuff just like Sasha did. And wanted to play with her like Courtney had been doing, too!

She still didn't like being forced into all this. And as a punishment, too! She'd have an easier time dealing with all of this, she thought, if she knew it was only for a week or something, and not the whole summer! At least that way she could have looked at this as some sort of really super-involved game rather then the reality it clearly was.

Like the cage. She was getting used to it by now, but 'used to it' wasn't the same as liking it. Sasha could have tolerated that confinement much better if she knew it was only for a few days, or even a week. But never knowing how long something was gonna be, or what lay around the corner for her, was unnerving.

She wanted her freedom back. Her independence back. The joy of being able to sleep as long as she wanted, when she wanted, where and how she wanted. To eat when she was hungry, and not just when she was fed. To pee when she had to, and not have to anxiously wait for someone to come let her out and take her to the bathroom! She'd taken so many things for granted and, now that she no longer had them, she missed them so badly it ached inside her.

Sasha softly groaned as the pleasant warmth of the shower seeped into her body. Nevertheless, even with all the awful things she was having to endure, there had also been some truly marvelous, unanticipated surprises too. Like orgasms!

Ooooooooh! Those had felt soooo wonderful! And Courtney had let her have them!

Sasha suddenly blinked at that, another frowny thoughtful look on her face. Well, she hadn't, exactly, let her have that first one, no. It was more a case of Courtney forcing Sasha to have one. Just as she forced Sasha to squirm. But, that second one?

No matter how Sasha looked at it, she couldn't help but think Courtney had given that one to Sasha. Let her enjoy it for no other reason then wanting Sasha to feel that glowy nice again. Because Sasha would like that, and not because Courtney had wanted doing that to her.

Deeply sighing Sasha faced the spray again, letting it pound against little budding breasts, chest and tummy. Just when she'd thought she was starting to figure things out, more things came along to confuse her!

Because, just as bewildering to her now was something else. It had been made very clear to her, in no uncertain and in absolutely unmistakable terms, that she was being punished. Penalized and disciplined for being such a rotten, disobedient brat by being made a slave for the entire summer. And, while they hadn't come right out and said so, it was pretty clear to Sasha the reason she was Courtney's slave was the awful way she'd been treating her little cousin.

And while that deeply rankled, upset and offended Sasha, having that doom sentenced upon her, she couldn't help notice other things. Her Aunt had, obviously enough, figured out certain things had a fascinating appeal to Sasha. Huh, no surprise there, she thought, considering how she'd been found and what she'd looked like at the time.

Sasha had a sneaky suspicion that some of the things she was learning or being taught weren't strictly necessary for being punished as a slave all summer long. For instance, at least half the slave positions she'd been shown and taught weren't needed. Sasha could see where requiring kneeling in Tower, standing upright, and even being leash-led, were something a slave would have to do; if, for no other reason, only so they never forgot that they were a slave. Moreover, while she didn't like considering the punishment poses, those did had a specific purpose behind them. But the others?

The only purpose Sasha could see for kneeling in Nadu - the kneeling pose with her legs spread wide - was to expose herself. And the same went for all the 'display' postures. It was demeaning enough being forced, required, to remain naked. But even that she could somewhat accept at face value, and for the reason she'd been given. But those other slave positions? Nu-uh! No way!

Those only existed to suggestively show her off; sexually, Sasha was dimly starting to understand. And that went wayyyy past simply punishing Sasha for her past misbehavior.

So why were they doing that? Didn't they know how wrong that was?

Except Sasha was starting to wonder if it really was wrong after all. Granted, everything she'd learned in the past, everything she'd been told and taught, indicated and implied that sex and sexual stuff were wrong. Well, wrong, at least, until you were grown up . . . which Sasha definitely wasn't, no matter how much she might imperiously declare she was.

But neither of them were acting as if there was anything at all wrong about what was happening. Or how Sasha was reacting and responding.

Then she stilled as yet another thought occurred to her. What would her Mom think of all this, if and when she found out? 'Jeez', Sasha thought, 'she'd have kittens! She'd go ballistic!'

Sasha hadn't thought much of her Mom lately, the rift between them having grown quite wide. But she thought about her now, and wondered what she'd think about Sasha these days, and everything that was being done to her. It didn't matter how close Mom and Aunt Samantha were, she'd go off like a cannon and rip her Aunt to shreds, up one side and down the other, literally flaying her. She'd be furious and outraged, for sure!

Wouldn't she? Sasha suddenly wondered.

Just because Sasha hadn't spoken to her Mom so far since she arrived, didn't necessarily mean her Aunt hadn't done so. Was the reason she was so unconcerned about how Sasha felt, was because she'd already talked to her sister and got her approval for all this??

She almost had to have done that, Sasha reasoned. Because sure as anything Sasha wasn't happy with being made a slave, and sure wasn't planning on not raising a fuss once they let her go. Heck, if she could somehow get to a phone she'd be calling her Mom faster'n greased lighting!

Did her Mom really know, she wondered. And, if she did . . . did she really care, one way or another? Just the thought of her Mom shrugging her shoulders and saying, 'I don't care, do whatever you want with her,' made Sasha feel sick to her stomach. She knew that their relationship had badly deteriorated, but the thought of her Mom just giving up on her made her eyes fill with hot, thick tears.

Gustily sighing and wiping unshed tears from her eyes with the back of her wrists Sasha started soaking her hair. Just when she could really use some time to think about things, now, of all times, she wasn't going to be stored for the day! As much as being caged drove her stark raving mad with boredom and confinement, Sasha really wished she had some quiet, alone time to consider things.

By now she'd figured out Aunt Samantha had really meant what she'd said that first day, about Sasha being a slave for the summer; both that it would last the whole summer, and that Sasha really was going to be treated as a slave. Because that's what she was now, and that's how her Aunt and little cousin viewed her. She hadn't thought they were serious at the time, but now she believed it.

Just how far was this going to go? she wondered. Just what more is going to happen to me? And why? Already things had gone much much further then she'd thought this punishment sentence would go. Then again, she had very limited experience in matters, so she truly didn't have any idea just how much more complex and detailed being trained as a slave could get, and she knew that, too.

But, Aunt Samantha sure knew all about stuff like that. Moreover, what had she told Sasha that very first morning? Oh yes.

Besides, little slave, you and I both know you want this. Being tied up. Being helpless. Having no choice, being made to do things. You want all of that. And more. Even the things you don't have any idea that exist. Yet. You can't get this, any of this, out of your mind. You think about it all day, dream about it all night, don't you.

Even now, three whole days later, just remembering that whispered voice made Sasha deeply shiver. Somehow Aunt Samantha knew - wasn't guessing, but knew - just what Sasha had been - and still was - feeling inside. And, although she'd been absolutely, lividly furious with Sasha for breaking into her secret rooms, not once had she ever appeared angry or mad at why Sasha had kept coming down. At what Sasha felt. What she wanted. How she responded.

Although she'd showered this morning Sasha used both soap and shampoo. She might not be dirty with soil, but she'd sweated quite a bit, and had certainly slobbered and creamed!

The soap, shampoo, washcloth and towel still weren't what Sasha was used to using, or wanted to use. However, they were infinitely better then what she'd had the last two days. She wondered just what she was expected to do in order to earn even better items. If it was kissing Courtney's pussy again, well, she'd just better get used to using what she had!

Although . . .

. . . that hadn't really been all that bad. It wasn't at all disgusting or revolting, like she'd first thought it would be. Actually, it really hadn't been bad at all. Well, except at the end, when Courtney had started getting wet, that is. And, even then, it hadn't been bad, gross or disgusting. But she still wasn't going to kiss there when Courtney was wet!

And that, too, was just another mark of how radically all this had shifted from just a simple, if rather severe and outré, punishment. All the touching stuff, all the playing stuff, went into an area Sasha innately understood was somewhere she was too young to go.

Well, supposedly too young, she reconsidered. If her body could orgasm, obviously she wasn't too young or little for some things!

Besides, no matter how livid her Aunt had been Sasha instinctively knew, and never once doubted, she'd never, ever do anything to Sasha that was harmful or bad. So if things were still progressing the way they were, her Aunt must be sure it was OK for Sasha that they did.

Thinking about her earlier orgasms, and all the nice touches that went with the second one, Sasha suddenly blinked. What would it feel like if she was kissed there? On her pussy? Like she'd done to Courtney. Goosebumps raced up and down slender lithe limbs, small puffy nipples immediately tightened, as she pondered that.

Those thoughts occupied her as she washed and shampooed, as she dried off and brushed her hair. She still hated the necessity of ponytailing her hair, but she never hesitated doing it. They might be easing up on her a little bit, but Sasha didn't doubt, not for an instant, that if she messed up at all with her hair, on purpose or by accident, all the tears and apologies in the world wouldn't keep them from cutting her hair into a pageboy.

She was right, too.

Just like Courtney wouldn't hesitate at all returning all that really crappy stuff if she failed to put her toiletries away and clean up after herself. Oh, how Sasha hated feeling impotent! But she'd already tried pushing those limits, and had learned, the hard way, what the consequences of doing that were.

Pretty awful.

Sasha considered something else as she brushed her hair and cleaned up. Something Courtney had yelled at her during her temper tantrum that first morning.

. . . but with everything you did, instead of getting just punished, you're also getting what you wanted! You're getting to have fun with your punishment!

Was some of this actually fun? she wondered. So far, for the most part, she'd have to say no. No, it sure wasn't fun. There was nothing fun about being caged morning, noon and night. Nothing fun about being paddled and strapped. Nothing fun about laying on your tummy and lapping up oatmeal and water from bowls while your hands were cuffed and locked together behind your back.

Except . . .

. . . Again Sasha's small, pink, puffy nipples tightened and tingled. Except it wasn't utter and complete misery and suffering either. She was being treated exactly as a real slave would be treated and, although Sasha refused to accept she was a slave, that didn't change the fact that she was one. Nothing would change that.

And deep in her mind she knew that. Knew that she could balk and refuse. Complain and resist. Struggle and fight. And still . . .

. . . she'd be just a slave. A real slave. No joke, no game, no fooling.

And because she was aware of that, no matter how deeply buried in her psyche that was, she couldn't ever completely deny it. And, somehow, that was changing even the truly dreadful, awful things into something more then simply appalling and loathsome.

The fact that both her Aunt and little cousin liked Sasha being their slave was something to consider, too. Even though this was meant as punishment for Sasha, they actually liked having her as their slave! Well, actually Courtney's slave, anyway, to be technical. But they liked, approved, enjoyed and delighted in having Sasha as a slave.

It was very difficult to buck the yoke when she knew that. Their praises and admiration made her feel special inside, made her feel warm and glowy, because she knew that those were utterly genuine and sincere. They had no need to praise; Sasha was just a slave, after all. All they really needed to do was scold and punish when Sasha rebelled and disobeyed. They didn't have to praise her when she did well. Or even when she just tried as hard as she could.

Sasha still vividly remembered how she felt inside when Courtney praised Sasha's attempt at remaining in position for the punishment strap. Even through her dread and absolute horror, positive she'd one more strapping coming, Courtney's praise at her attempt at staying in position had broken past that terror and made Sasha feel so incredibly warm and wriggly inside.

Although she was almost as bright as Courtney was, Sasha wasn't aware of the differences between negative aversion and positive reinforcement training and conditioning, or even that such existed in the first place. Moreover, even if she had been aware, there really wasn't any way that she could have resisted either when they were responsibly, repetitively used on her.

Especially when Samantha was very, very good at training slaves.

Sasha was starting to get hungry now. Except for breakfast this morning, meals had been pretty light, and her hunger came faster, and more intense, then she was used to feeling. She wondered if it would still be oatmeal - and, if so, whether it would be plain and cold again, or hot and fixed up like this morning - or something else. It was decidedly restrictive having to wait to be fed, instead of just getting food when you were hungry!

Finished with bathing and grooming Sasha padded into the locker area, fastening and relocking the cuffs again before kneeling in Tower. She was starting to get used to kneeling now, but the position was still a strain on her ankles. She wished she could position her feet differently then required to do, and longed for some way to convey that desire to Courtney.

Well, so far her credits seemed to outweigh her debts, so Sasha nervously made a decision. And, when Courtney finally strolled inside, Sasha took a very deep and nervous breath before whispering, "Mistress?"

She'd rather have cut her throat then call Courtney that. But, seeing as how she was breaking a rule to start with by even speaking up, Sasha decided it was worth attempting to mitigate any potential punishment by addressing Courtney that way.

Courtney's step actually faltered at Sasha's speaking up. That was so totally unexpected. For an instant her expression was fierce, cold and stern, but almost instantly shifted in puzzled curiosity. It must be something important if her slave spoke up!

"You know you're gonna be gagged for that, yes?" Courtney stated, and Sasha simply nodded, keeping her eyes downcast.

'Huh,' Courtney thought, surprised. 'I wasn't expecting that!' "What's so important that it's worth being gagged?" she finally asked.

"I'm not complaining," Sasha said, speaking in a very soft voice, and still keeping her eyes focused on the floor right in front of her. "But, would it be possible, please, if, when I kneel, I could have my feet different?"

"Uuuuuh," Courtney faltered, a bit taken aback both at the request and at how softly and politely Twerp was speaking. "What do you mean?" she finally asked.

'Well, that's a good sign,' Sasha thought, since Courtney did, at least, let her ask her question. She would have hated paying the price of being gagged without having asked it! "When I kneel I'm supposed to have my feet straight out under me," she explained, "and my butt tight against my heels." Although Sasha couldn't see, Courtney nodded at that as she listened. "That puts my insteps on the floor and stretches them out. It gets pretty uncomfortable after just a little while."

"So?" Courtney asked, but not sounding impatient or uncaring, just simply puzzled and curious.

"Could I, maybe, instead," Sasha asked, still in a soft, low voice, and seething a bit inside at the necessity to sound so meek and servile, "shift my feet? So they rest on their outsides with the toes pointing in, and my butt pressed against the insides of my feet?"

Courtney nibbled her tiny pinky nail as she considered that. "Show me what you mean," she finally said, then watched as her slave wriggled a bit and adjusted her position. Walking around behind her Courtney peered down. "Huh," she muttered, "I see what you mean now."

Indeed she did, for Courtney, when she kneeled (as she often did for the additional height that gave her when she sat at a table) knelt just like that herself. It was very comfy kneeling like that, too.

She thought about asking her Mom first, then paused in mid-thought. Mom might have taught Twerp all those positions, true, but Twerp was her slave. If Courtney decided she didn't want to fuss with all those positions - which wasn't the case at all; she thought they were all way awesomely cool - then she could just do away with any, or all, of them.

Granted, for such a major change like that she should probably ask Mom first before going ahead, but this wasn't a significant change. It was just a tiny alteration. And one that made sense, too.

"Yeah, sure," Courtney said after a few moments, then decided that sounded too diffident and hesitant and not at all Mistress-ey. "Yes Twerp, that will be how you do it from now on," she tacked on in a much firmer tone. Then, after another few moments added, "That was a good suggestion. Thank you for making it."

Sasha heaved a silent sigh of relief. She hadn't been sure if Courtney would agree to it or not, let alone certain Courtney would have even let her ask it to start with. It seemed she was actually pleased Sasha had asked but, as she found out a few minutes later, pleased or not Courtney still wound up gagging her.

As it was only a single strip of duct tape over the lips it wasn't terribly bad, although Sasha still was highly incensed when the tape was applied. Sheesh! What was she supposed to do if she had a really important question? Just keep her yap zipped?

Evidently so, it seemed, which didn't seem at all fair.

It was also pretty useless as a gag, too, she realized only moments later. Although, as a reminder or deterrent it might be effective. No sooner had Courtney smoothed the tape in place then Sasha started wiggling her lips back and forth and in and out. When Courtney wasn't watching, of course. No fool was she! Within several seconds, she'd started feeling the tape pull free from her lower lip and chin, although it still stuck to her cheeks and upper lip.

She stopped playing with the tape when Courtney brought up the leash, rising to her small feet when Courtney held it out and standing to be leashed like 'a good little slave', then padded along when led off. After the first few steps, she started working her lips and small jaw again, defiantly determined to pry as much of the tape loose as she could.

She softly snorted in contemptuous disdain at how easy the tape was to work loose, but there was only an expression of complete guileless innocence when Courtney peered back to see what the sound had been for.

As she followed along behind Courtney Sasha realized that, even though she remained miffed and annoyed at being gagged - especially when it was as useless and pointless as it was - she was, nevertheless, still walking in reasonably perfect posture. Sasha almost decided to slack a bit as yet another touch of rebellious defiance, something that would make her feel that she still had some control over things. But she decided against that for two reasons.

One was that she didn't doubt at all that, should Courtney observe her doing so, this time she wouldn't pretend not to notice, waiting to see just how far Sasha would push things. No, this time she'd most likely land on her like a ton of bricks. And there were far too many 'bricks' in her arsenal to risk playing around like that.

The other reason was something that had dimly started percolating in her mind since that first day, and had seemed to grow clearer since this morning. As far as Sasha had been concerned, enforced nudity and displayed postures were demeaning and embarrassing. And her first, subjective reaction considered that degrading, shameful and humiliating as well.

Well, she still felt they were embarrassing and demeaning. It wasn't that she was overly shy, self-conscious or overly modest, but there was something about traipsing about naked as a jaybird while everyone else was dressed that made her feel even more naked. If that made sense.

Especially since it was everywhere, and all the time. She'd feel less embarrassed if in a more familiar setting for being nude, like a bedroom or bathroom. But it was everywhere!

And it was still demeaning, too. But not, she was slowly understanding, and accepting, in a cruelly negatively way. It really wasn't degrading, nor did she actually feel that way. It was, however, demeaning in the sense she felt, somehow, inferior; subservient and subordinate.

As for those being shameful or humiliating, well . . . it could only be shameful if Sasha had a choice. Which she didn't. And since she wasn't being mocked, scorned or belittled, her embarrassment, really, hadn't ever shifted over into true humiliation.

But now there was even something else being added to that stew. Sasha had been so utterly embarrassed and mortified during her first slave training session, when she'd had to assume 'Tower' for the very first time and realized what she'd look like. And, even if she hadn't comprehended, being outright instructed to ' . . .push that chest up and out. Proudly show off your breasts,' had been pretty clear and pointed!

She'd had a very difficult time doing that, and most of the rest that followed that afternoon, but Courtney had said something that had startled Sasha. And she'd never really forgotten it, even though she hadn't overly dwelled on it either.

Courtney had sharply scolded Sasha when she'd self-consciously hunched over, telling her she'd been very pretty and graceful when she was a girl instead of a slave. And that she hadn't had any trouble wanting to show off her boobies then. The awful truth was, is that Courtney had been right. Ever since she'd first started developing, Sasha had felt inordinately proud and pleased at having breasts, no matter how small they might currently be. Because she, at least, had something!

And, if she wanted to be completely truthful, she did enjoy being looked at. Admired. She liked that a lot, and so had started making changes in her appearance, posture and dress to gain even more stares and looks. Sasha knew dog gone well that she was looked at, especially when she wore snug clingy tops and walked around with her little chest proudly pushed up and out. Why, sometimes you could have even seen the outline of her nipples through the fabric!

Now, why it was embarrassing to have her Aunt and cousin look at her she didn't know. Maybe it was because she was naked. Or maybe because she just didn't have a choice about that or how she had to pose. Like, it was one thing to want to have people look at you and admire you, and another to have no choice about that, and had to intentionally show yourself off!

The interesting thing, though . . . was it seemed both of them liked looking at her. At her, for herself. Not finding amusement at her predicament and forced, exposed displaying - although there was some of that, she knew - but simply enjoyed looking at her.

They liked what they saw, true: a disobedient girl being punished by having been made a slave. They enjoyed the 'what' and 'why', yes. But they also liked the 'who', too. They liked looking at Sasha, they thought she looked pretty. Even sexy!

That actually was a rather heady sensation, realizing that. Understanding that both her Aunt and cousin thought Sasha looked pretty and beautiful and sexy. That they liked looking at her all naked and bare, and even got a thrill from that. Even got aroused by her appearance and body!

Sasha felt herself preening at that understanding. She hadn't - quite - become so vain as to be narcissistic, but she did like admiration for her looks and appearance. Just as many girls her age did. But, unlike those girls, she didn't have to worry about things like modesty, propriety, decorum or appropriateness. Or anything else, for that matter. She was free to simply be.

For a change, she relaxed somewhat while being led. And, in relaxing, actually stood straighter. Taller. Prouder. She didn't exactly strut or swagger, but there was a touch of both in her stride. She wasn't ashamed of her body or how it looked. And, while she might not have ever willingly chosen to prance around stark naked, well, that choice hadn't been hers to make, had it?

Courtney led her to the exercise/kitchen/laundry room door, and only then did Sasha realize that she'd been reflexively working at loosening the tape that entire time. By now it wasn't sticking at all anywhere over her mouth, and only remained attached at the edges of the tape atop her cheeks. It was only then that Sasha felt an abrupt surge of guilt.

All this time she's been aggrieved at how unfair it had been gagging her for needing to ask a question. But it hadn't been because she's needed to ask, but because she'd spoken. And, while that might not be fair . . . it was just.

Time and time again she'd had hammered home that actions begot consequences, whether positive ones or negative ones. The rule for speaking had been very clear: say one word, make even a single sound, and she'd be immediately gagged. What was the point of having a rule, if it wasn't going to be enforced? What was the purpose of setting lines and limits, if they kept being changed all the time?

Maybe Courtney had felt bad about having to gag Sasha but, as a rule had been broken, she'd no choice but enforce the penalty. But . . . she did have a choice on how she chose to do that, and she'd chosen a gag that, really, didn't do anything to gag at all. So ineffective, in fact, that Sasha had, quite easily, unsealed her lips without ever needing to use her hands.

And instead of being grateful and understanding, Sasha had abused that kindness and understanding. By working the tape loose instead of just dealing with - what was, any way she chose to look at it, a very trivial thing - it.

If Courtney discovered what Sasha had done out of spite and spleen, she'd undoubtedly be angry and furious. But she'd probably also be hurt, too, and for some reason understanding that made Sasha's tummy feel sick all of a sudden.

"Mmffpphh?"

Courtney turned around just as she was about to open the door to the room, looking quite startled at Twerp making a sound. Then very pale, honey blonde brows lifted when Twerp tipped her chin up a little then started making little jerks back and forth with her head. She couldn't figure out what was the matter; Twerp was acting like she wanted or needed the gag off, but sheesh! It was only a single piece of tape after all!

Stepping up close to her slave Courtney asked, "What's the matter Twerp? Is something wrong?"

Twerp's cheeks had the softest of blushes to them as she nodded. Then Courtney's huge gray eyes rounded a bit as Twerp exhaled . . . through her mouth, puffing out and whistling through the sides of the tape which was, Courtney could now see, was plainly loose and no longer sticking. "It came loose, huh?" she asked, even as she reached up and resealed the tape with tiny fingers, smoothing it back down and flat again.

Sasha just nodded. Well, she wasn't fibbing; the tape had come loose. It just had had, well, help doing that.

Courtney warmly smiled once she'd finished pressing the tape back down snug. "Thank you Twerp," she brightly chirped, "for letting me know." And, at hearing Courtney's sincere praise, instead of silently gloating over fooling and deceiving her naive, gullible little cousin, Sasha felt like a total heel instead. Which wasn't at all like her!

She felt even worse when, no sooner had Courtney led her inside then she walked her right over to Aunt Samantha, who was standing over by the kitchenette counter, proudly informing her Mom how good her slave had been for letting Courtney know her tape gag had come loose. Even Aunt Samantha had looked pleased!

Somehow, that little victory of defiance now tasted like ashes in her mouth, and Sasha wished she'd never tampered with the tape at all. She still felt so horrid and ashamed it didn't register, at first, that Courtney had unclipped the leash and left her standing there with her Aunt.

Until Aunt Samantha, with a soft cough, got her attention. And then Sasha wondered what new thing was in store for her now.