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                 / )|         DIRECTORIES        |( \
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o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o
o  	This part of my collection offers a very wide variety of stories. o
o  They have been submitted by people from all over the world.  Also from o
o  alt.sex.stories (Newsgroups). There is no particular order to this     o
o  section of my collection,  other than offering them to you in  alpha-  o
o  betical directories.                                                   o
o  	I don't believe in categorizing things. "I don't want to be typed o
o  therefore I don't type things myself." I think it's a lot more fun to  o
o  browse around and find 'little' surprises,  and topics that you might  o
o  not have even thought of looking for. I hope you enjoy your time among o
o  Kristen's book shelf directories.                                      o
o   	Lest we forget!!!  This story was produced as adult entertainment o
o  and should not be read by minors.  Thank you, Kristen Becker           o
o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o

Amy's Shame 2 (Fdom-F)
A Story by Ginny and Amy (c) 1998

**

Amy eyed the contents of the cabinet and when she realized what it 
contained, she gasped in shock. "Noooo," she whispered, "you can't! Not 
that, please NO!." Jamie and Barbara both laughed as they grabbed her 
arms, dragged her across the filthy floor and slammed her ass down in 
what looked like an old barbers chair. With a couple of twists of two 
leather straps attached to the arms of the chair, they bound her wrists 
to the chair. Despite her kicking and squirming, Amy was now completely 
at their mercy.

The old crone took down silver machine from the cabinet along with a 
leather case. Amy watched with eyes wide with fear as she approached and 
straddled a high stool that covered Amy's legs at the thighs. "What 
shall we do first," the old crone asked Jamie, "she's your bitch." Jamie 
slowly ran her hand over Amy's heaving chest, hooked her fingers under 
the top of the stretchy material and slowly pulled Amy's dress down. It 
caught on her rigid nipple and Jamie gave it a little tug to free it. 
When she did, Amy's firm little breast bounced free of its confinement 
like a prisoner newly freed from prison.

Despite the knot of fear in the pit of her stomach, Amy's nipples were 
hard with arousal. Something in the way Jamie and her mother were 
treating her excited the young woman like nothing that had ever happened 
to her in all her 28 years. Perhaps it was the contrast with the way her 
own parents treated her, giving her everything she wanted and spoiling 
her rotten. Perhaps, the treatment she was getting from Jamie and her 
mother provided a structure and discipline that she'd missed in her 
mundane life.

The crone leaned forward and gave Amy's left breast a squeeze like a 
fishwife checking out the catch of the day. Her touch was neither erotic 
nor casual, but felt the way Amy's doctor touched her during an exam, 
detached and clinical.. "She's got good skin," she cackled, "Have you 
decided on a design?" Jamie nodded and opened her own blouse. "Give her 
the mate to this one." Amy looked up and saw a large tattoo that covered 
Jamie's entire breast. A giant snake that spiraled its way up from her 
ribs, around and around her breast until, at the end, the snake's open 
mouth seemed about to bite her nipple. Amy screamed just before she 
fainted.

When she awoke, she felt something cool on her breast and she looked 
down to where the old crone was swabbing her breast with an alcohol 
soaked cotton ball. "I'm glad you rejoined us," she said. "Jamie was 
just saying what she'd do to you if you passed out again. I'd stay awake 
at all costs, if I were you." Amy looked up to see Barbara and Jamie 
sipping drinks. "Here," Jamie chuckled, "take a pull on this, you're 
going to need it." She shoved an open bottle between Amy's lips before 
she could respond and tipped it up. A big slug of Tequila, the powerful 
Mexican liquor, rolled down her throat before she could get her tongue 
into the bottle to stop it. She started to gag, and in doing so, she 
swallowed another gulp of the fiery liquid.

Jamie took the bottle away and she and Barbara laughed as Amy coughed 
and sputtered. Then the old woman began to tattoo Amy's pale white skin. 
She couldn't believe how much pain there was as the mechanical needle 
flicked in and out, in and out as the old woman slowly moved the tattoo 
machine across her breast. She remembered the old woman's warning about 
not passing out again, and she fought against the pain. To counter Amy's 
writhing and squirming, the old crone held Amy's nipple between her 
thumb and forefinger and pulled her breast to keep it taut. Amy's 
ability to move was severely limited by the straps on her wrists and by 
Barbara who stood behind her holding a handful of her hair. The old 
woman was able, by holding her breast tightly, to keep it relatively 
still as she worked.

Every so often, Jamie thrust the bottle in her mouth and poured more 
Tequila down Amy's throat. She no longer resisted the powerful liquor, 
for she found it dulled the pain and she began looking forward to the 
next shot. It took the old woman almost an hour to complete the large 
tattoo and Amy realized she no longer had any sensation in her breast 
other than a dull throbbing ache that felt like it was being roasted 
over a low fire. The old woman finally sat back, studied her handiwork 
and pronounced it finished. Amy gave a sigh of relief that her ordeal 
was finally over, but she snapped back to full consciousness when she 
heard Jamie say,  "OK, now put this on the other one." She held up a 
picture of a woman standing over another woman. The second woman's head 
was bowed in a subservient pose. Amy screamed and began to thrash about 
in the chair, but the thick straps held her firmly in place. Barbara 
cursed under her breath and slapped Amy so hard her head snapped to the 
side. "Shut up you fuckin' cunt," she sneered. "Hell, Jamie and I've 
both had worse, look at this!" She unzipped her skintight leather 
mini-dress to reveal a tattoo of a dragon that covered both breasts and 
her rounded belly.

The old crone changed to a different needle and began to tattoo Amy's 
right breast with the picture of one woman being dominated and demeaned 
by another. She had no doubt which of the two roles it would be her sad 
duty to fulfill. The second tattoo was not only quite a bit smaller than 
the first, but Amy had drunk a lot of the powerful Tequila. Although the 
needle was still painful, her mind drifted away as her head lolled from 
side to side. This time, the old crone still held her breast, but only 
as an aid to steady her other hand.

Unlike the first tattoo, the second took about half  an hour, but by the 
time it was completed, Amy was quite drunk. When Jamie unfastened the 
straps, Amy staggered out of the chair and fell to her knees. If she 
hadn't wrapped her slender arms around Jamie's thighs, she'd have fallen 
flat on her face. "I gotta pee," she said, slurring her words badly. The 
old crone pointed to the back and Jamie and Barbara supported the tipsy 
young woman as she staggered to the bathroom. In truth, it was nothing 
more than a commode in the corner of an open room, but Amy was too drunk 
to care. She hiked up her skirt, squatted and peed a stream of golden 
fluid for a good two minutes. Then she rested her head against the wall 
and began to snore.

Jamie pulled her off the stool and slapped her face several times to 
waken her. "Not yet, Bitch," she hissed. "You've still got one more 
thing to do before you can go beddy-bye." They dragged her back the shop 
where the old crone waited with her tattoo machine. Jamie and Barbara 
put Amy on her knees and bowed her head to the floor. Then Jamie pulled 
Amy's skirt up to the small of her back, baring her white ass cheeks. 
Jamie explained what she wanted and the old crone chuckled knowingly, "I 
remember the last time I did one of those. How many's there been 
anyway?" Jamie bristled, "Never mind about her, this is the one I've got 
now. Get busy!"

The old woman sat on a stool between Amy's thighs, using her knees to 
keep the unwilling woman's legs apart. As she began to tattoo Amy's 
right ass cheek, she slid her left hand underneath and between Amy's 
legs to "steady" her. In truth, her subtle fingering of Amy's pussy had 
just the opposite effect and between the pain of the tattoo machine on 
her ass and the pleasure of the old woman's skilled fingers in her 
pussy, the young woman was torn between conflicting sensations. In the 
end, her lust won out over her pain and she climaxed before the old  
woman completed the third tattoo.

"You want me to do the other one now?" she asked as Jamie and Barbara 
stood over Amy's prostrate body. "Never mind," Jamie said with a 
resigned shake of her head. "She's so out of it, she can't even feel the 
pain anymore." Barbara glared at the old woman, "And you didn't help, 
frigging her clit while you were supposed to be working. Hell, if we'd 
wanted that done, I'd have done it, and a lot better besides." The old 
woman held out her hand, "That'll be three hundred like I said."  Then 
she added with a sly smile, "Nothin' extra for the orgasm!"

Amy awoke the next morning with a terrible throbbing in her head. She 
couldn't remember where she was or much of what had happened the night 
before. The last thing she clearly recalled was when Jamie had announced 
that she'd get a second breast tattoo. She lifted up the bed covers and 
stared down at her breasts. They were not only covered with the tattoos, 
exactly as she remembered them, but they'd swollen to nearly twice their 
normal size. She tried to touch them, but they were extremely tender and 
sensitive. She wondered how she'd be able to wear a blouse over them, 
let alone a bra.

As she lay there wondering what she should do next, the door opened and 
Jamie came bouncing in, all chipper and bright. "Good morning,, 
Amy-girl, did you sleep well last night? I hope you're not too sore to 
get your ass out of bed and come downstairs for breakfast?" Amy shook 
her head and that simple act sent shards of pain searing through her 
breasts. She winced and it brought a grin to Jamie's lips. Amy slowly 
drew back the covers and gingerly swung her legs out of bed but a sudden 
shooting pain in her ass caused her to yelp in surprise. She reached 
back and realized her right cheek was quite sensitive.

"Wha . . . what happened to me last night?" Jamie shrugged, "Who cares? 
You were having so much fun, I just wish it'd never ended." Amy looked 
down at her chest and began to weep. "Don't be a wuss," Jamie scolded. 
"In a few days the swelling will go down and your tits'll go back down 
to normal." She laughed and the thought of Amy's small breasts being so 
sensitive gave her a sudden idea.

She disappeared while Amy tip-toed over to the mirror to try to see what 
was wrong with her ass. When she saw the third tattoo, her face turned 
bright red and she broke down in tears. That's how Jamie found her, 
standing and shivering as she cried in front of the full length mirror. 
"What have you done to me?" Amy cried, trying to turn her head around to 
read the lettering on her firm butt. Jamie held up a hand mirror so the 
reversed reflection was reversed again, enabling Amy to read the bold 
lettering, "Jamie's Bitch."  

"What's going to happen to me?" Amy sobbed. "Nothing really," Jamie 
chuckled, "At least not yet. Hell, all that means is that hi-cut bathing 
suits are out and you'll never wear a thong except around people who 
already know about us. Oh," she added, "and I'd stay out of public 
showers, too. But that's all behind you now," she giggled at the crude 
joke. "Come on, get back in bed and let me do something about your 
tits." Foolishly thinking Jamie would do something to soothe her pain, 
Amy naively allowed the woman to lead her back to bed. 

As she lay back, Jamie lowered her head and took Amy's left nipple in 
her mouth and ran her tongue over the rough tip until it became hard. 
The expansion of the sensitive nub made Amy moan in pain. "Don't worry," 
Jamie whispered as she raised her head, "in a few minutes, you won't 
even remember that." Then the cruel brunette tied thin rubber cords 
around Amy's stiff nipples and stretched them until they reached the 
posts at the corner of the old-fashioned bed. She tied the ends around 
the posts which forced Amy to arch her back to relieve the stress on her 
newly decorated mams.

Amy touched the cords, but Jamie slapped her hands away. "Uh-uh. 
Amy-girl no touch. Just lay there and let this put a little life in 
those dead ol' titties of yours. Who knows, maybe we'll stretch them a 
size or two. How'd you like to have a real pair of tits like mine?" 
Jamie arched her back and pushed her bosom toward Amy's face. The 
embarrassed girl could never bring herself to admit how badly she 
desired a pair of firm, proud breasts like Jamie had. If Jamie knew how 
many nights Amy had dreamed of waking up with Jamie's breasts instead of 
her own little mounds of flesh, there's no telling what Jamie would say 
or do to her.

The cords were already stretching  Amy's nipples and she began to writhe 
and moan in pain as the flesh was stretched until she was sure it would 
tear away from her chest. "You lay here for an hour," Jamie said, "then 
I'll come and release you. We'll be watching and every time you touch 
yourself, I'm going to add fifteen minutes to your sentence. If you 
behave, we'll give you something to eat before Barbara begins your 
lessons." Amy's eyes widened, "Lessons? What kind of lessons?" Jamie 
chuckled. It was an evil laugh that sent shivers up Amy's spine. "We 
want to make sure you don't embarrass us at the party tonight," she said 
enigmatically. Then she gave the cords holding Amy's nipples a snap and 
walked out humming happily as Amy's breasts danced painfully.

Amy tried to relax, but the steady pull on her sensitive nipples was 
like an aphrodisiac. Soon, she felt a warmth in her loins and she moved 
her hips ever so slightly to ease the pressure on her clitoris. Instead, 
her nipples stretched more and she gasped in pain. Unfortunately, the 
jolt of pain only furthered her arousal and she desperately wanted to 
reach down and get one or more fingers in her pussy to relive the 
stress. She tried, but the effort only increased her tit-pain. In her 
frustration, she began to weep softly. Behind a one-way mirror, Barbara 
hugged Jamie and kissed her on the lips. Barbara's hand roamed over 
Jamie's pussy and she gave her daughter a very un-motherly squeeze, 
"You're getting hot just watching, aren't you dear?" Jamie sighed and 
nodded wordlessly, leaned on Barbara and the woman fingered her daughter 
to a climax.

Meanwhile in the bedroom Amy couldn't resist touching the cords that 
held her nipples. As Jamie had warned, a disembodied voice from a hidden 
speaker chided her and announced that an additional fifteen minute 
penalty had been added. "Keep it up and your tits'll stretch `til you 
look like Anna Nicole Smith," the voice laughed. Despite the terrible 
pain in her breasts, Amy didn't touch the cords again. When Jamie 
finally appeared to release her, there were tears of gratitude on Amy's 
cheeks. "How's the treatment?" Jamie asked with a light laugh as she ran 
her fingertips over Amy's flat belly. Amy shuddered at the woman's 
touch, but she knew that Jamie wanted her to say she'd needed it and she 
said so. "I enjoyed it, truly I did."

Jamie giggled at her transparent lie and said tartly, "I'm sure you did. 
Just look at those little  silver dollar pancakes of yours, why they're 
already showing some signs of  life. After a couple of weeks, you won't 
have a figure like a pre-pubescent teenager any more." The woman's words 
stung, not because they were lies, but because Jamie had said it. Ever 
since first meeting Jamie, Amy had been envious of her breasts. Many 
times, she'd fallen asleep and dreamed that when she awoke, her own 
inadequate breasts would have miraculously been transformed into Jamie's 
as she slept.

Amy gritted her teeth against the pain as Jamie slowly untied the 
elastic and she fought an overpowering urge to touch them. She suspected 
that was what Jamie wanted and if she had,  she was sure it would drawn 
a stern rebuke, if not some form of punishment. As Amy slowly and 
painfully got off the bed, Jamie saw a moist spot on the sheet where 
Amy's hips had been. "Aww, did little Amy-girl piss herself?" she 
laughed. She touched her finger to the moisture, rubbed her fingers 
together to test the consistency and then slowly brought her hand to her 
mouth. She stuck out her tongue and tasted it then she broke into a 
smile, "Why you little devil! You really did enjoy that didn't you?" 
Amy's cheeks flushed and she lowered her eyes, unable to meet her 
tormentor's gleeful gaze. Jamie thrust her hand between Amy's thighs and 
pushed a finger into her slippery, wet slot. "Unnnh," Amy moaned when 
Jamie's finger found her stiff clitoris. 

Without thinking or even being aware she did it, Amy bent her knees and 
slowly lowered herself onto Jamie's hand. The movement pushed Jamie's 
finger even further inside her and Amy moaned with obvious delight. 
Jamie never moved, just chuckled to herself and wiggled her finger until 
Amy gasped and collapsed in her arms from her orgasm. Despite the pain 
in her breasts, Amy clutched Jamie against her bosom. Later, when she 
and Barbara were alone, Jamie excitedly told her mother, "I swear she 
said, `Thank you'."

After Amy put on a robe, Jamie took her downstairs and fed her a light 
breakfast. Immediately afterwards, Barbara took over Amy's training 
while Jamie went out on an errand. Amy spent the next few hours learning 
to wear many different types of restraining devices including tight 
corsets with holes cut in the front that allowed her breasts to show 
while her arms were strapped behind her back. One particularly 
terrifying outfit was full of holes that gave full access to every 
opening of her body while completely immobilizing her hands and feet and 
blinding her as well. She couldn't imagine the terrible indignities that 
could be inflicted anyone unfortunate enough to wear such a costume.

Barbara took delight in dressing Amy in one restrictive costume after 
another until the poor girl was exhausted from struggling in and out of 
the leather, rubber or spandex clothing. When she finally allowed Amy to 
rest, Barbara insisted that she do it on her knees in front of her with 
her head resting on her thick thighs. Afraid of the older woman, Amy 
reluctantly did as she was ordered. Barbara gently stroked Amy's long 
hair as she leaned back, closed her eyes and lost herself deep in 
thought. 

Finally, the woman spoke in a soft voice, as if her thoughts were a 
hundred years away. "Ah, this brings back such memories," she said. "I 
had a slave of my own when I was Jamie's age and she brought me the most 
exquisite pleasure. I hope you'll do the same for her." Amy wanted to 
promise that she would, if for no reason other than to prevent another 
beating, but she was too afraid to speak. Barbara reminisced as her 
hands stroked Amy's hair. "God, that girl was the best little bitch I 
ever had. I'll have to be sure to show Jamie some of the tricks I taught 
her, I'm sure you'll be quite good, you're even more pliable than she 
was." 
 
After lunch, Jamie returned and joined Barbara in training Amy. The 
lesson was on cunnilingus, and while Amy's experience was severely 
limited, Jamie and Barbara proved to be excellent instructors. While one 
of them demonstrated on Amy, she practiced on the other, trying to 
duplicate the sensations she was feeling herself. It was an exhausting 
afternoon, what with all the bending, twisting and tonguing, but not 
only was Amy proud of what she'd learned, but both Jamie and Barbara 
seemed pleased with her progress as well.

That evening, Amy was dressed again in the same little black spandex 
dress she'd worn for her tattooing. As Barbara drove downtown, Jamie 
reached over and idly ran her hand up the inside of Amy's thigh toward 
her pussy. Amy knew better than to resist and Jamie smiled broadly when, 
as her fingers reached her shaved opening, Amy spread her legs to give 
Jamie unfettered access to her. Jamie didn't disappoint, pushing two 
fingers into her opening and tickling her clitoris until she climaxed. 
Barbara congratulated Jamie as they pulled up in front of an apparently 
abandoned warehouse building.

Inside the dingy building, was concealed a posh private club where 
Barbara was greeted as an old friend by the burly guard. He eyed Amy's 
slender figure and asked, "New meat?" Barbara laughed and nodded toward 
Jamie, "It's hers." Barbara was taken to a table right next to the stage 
and Amy flushed self-consciously as she minced her way between tables 
trying to hold her dress down in the front without having her newly 
decorated breasts leap out the top. It was a nearly impossible task and 
she almost tumbled into a  table of laughing women as she concentrated 
on her problem instead of where she was going.

That evening, the "show" consisted of pairs of women and one would abuse 
the other until she passed out from pain, multiple orgasms or both, 
depending upon the type of abuse that was inflicted on her. During a 
break in the show, Jamie took Amy's arm and dragged her up onto the 
stage where she put her in a chair facing the audience. A couple of 
women at one of the "ringside" tables laughed as she sat down, for they 
saw she wore no panties as her bare pussy reflected light like a beacon 
to the twisted women. Amy tried to keep her legs closed, but with Jamie 
pulling and tugging on her hair it was a tough job.

Jamie ran her hands through Amy's shoulder length, light brown hair and 
eyed Amy's reaction to her fondling. Amy closed her eyes and stretched 
contentedly as she enjoyed Jamie's caress. Once, Amy even sighed as if 
she were sexually aroused. "Your crowning glory!" Jamie whispered in her 
ear, "I can't remember how many times I watched you play with this hair. 
You're always either brushing or combing it. Do you realize how you toss 
it when you talk, especially to men. You're fixated on your hair, aren't 
you?" She gave Amy's hair a hard yank when she asked the question, but 
Amy sat without speaking. Everything Jamie said about her was true. 
Since she'd been a little girl, Amy had been proud of her long, soft 
hair.

Then Jamie produced a pair of long scissors from her bag. "Well, we're 
going to cut it all off." Amy bolted straight up in the chair and 
snatched her hair from Jamie's grasp. "NO, you can't! Not my hair! 
Please!" The poor girl was so upset she started to cry. "Remember you 
parents," Jamie hissed. Amy hesitated and then slowly lowered her hands 
in her lap. She sat sobbing softly as Jamie cut and hacked at her head, 
removing large hunks of her beautiful tresses. Tears rolled down her 
cheeks and fell onto the rapidly growing pile of her hair beneath the 
chair. When Jamie finished, all that remained were strands and clumps of 
ragged hair.

Jamie went backstage and returned with a small pair of electric 
trimmers. She held Amy firmly by the shoulder as she ran the clippers 
over her head, giving her a buzz cut that left what remained of her hair 
less than 1/4" long. "That's much better," Jamie said as she stepped 
back and admired her handiwork. "Whadda ya think ladies?" she asked the 
group of women in the front row. They applauded and one called out, 
"It's great. Looks real butch!" On hearing that, Amy couldn't control 
herself and she broke down blubbering.

Amy spent the evening sitting morosely at Barbara's table next to Jamie. 
Women would come over and ask Jamie if Amy could dance with them. Jamie 
never turned them down, pushing her into their arms and watching coolly 
as they twirled Amy across the tiny dance floor. Most of the women took 
the opportunity to grope her tight little ass or rub their breasts 
against hers, which were still sensitive from the tattoos. One woman 
apparently mistook Amy's reaction to their sensitivity for arousal and 
grabbed her breast and gave it a squeeze. Everyone in the place had 
turned to look when Amy's piercing scream echoed through the room.

Later, on the way back from the club, Jamie announced that Amy would be 
moving in with her. "I thought I was already staying with you?" Jamie 
laughed, "No, silly Amy-girl. That's Barbara's place. I'm flattered that 
you think I could afford such a luxury townhouse on what they're paying 
us. My apartment's not too far from yours, as a matter of fact." That 
reminded Amy that she didn't have anything to wear to work on Monday. At 
least she hoped Jamie would allow her to return to her job.

"Are . . . are you going to let me go to work Monday?" Amy asked, her 
voice cracking with emotion. In spite of all the problems in the office, 
Amy found the thought of not being able to work made her uneasy. Jamie 
laughed at her question, "Of course. In fact, let's stop by your 
apartment to pick up your clothes for the week. We can't have you 
showing up to work in that provocative number," she pointed at the tiny 
dress Amy had been wearing for the past two days, "you might get raped 
in the hall." Jamie and Barbara both laughed, but the humor in the 
thought of being raped escaped her.

When they reached her apartment building, Jamie and Amy took the stairs 
to Amy's apartment where Jamie rummaged through Amy's large closets full 
of expensive outfits. Apparently Jamie had definite ideas about the look 
she wanted for her new slave, for she flipped quickly though the 
hangers, rejecting almost all of Amy's favorite dresses and suits. "No, 
no, no, no, no, maybe, no, no," Amy was becoming embarrassed when Jamie 
finally found one that met her criteria. She pulled it out and held it 
up in front of Amy to see how it looked.

It was an outfit Amy had bought a few years ago, worn once and put away. 
It was a suit with a too short skirt that she'd picked up while shopping 
with her friend Linda. Linda had said it looked good on her, but Amy 
found it too revealing and had never worn it to work. Now, Jamie had 
picked it out and she would have to wear it whether she liked it or not. 
The rest of Jamie's choices were equally bizarre. Colors that weren't in 
Amy's palette, skirts that were far too short, blouses that were too 
sheer, it was as if Jamie were deliberately choosing the outfits that 
made Amy look her worst. "I can't wear this," Amy said of one jacket, 
"with my coloring, it makes me look anemic." Jamie slapped her cheek - 
not too hard but hard enough to let Amy know her opinion was unworthy of 
consideration. "You'll wear what I tell you, when I tell you to wear 
it," she hissed. "But you're right about the color, brunette's shouldn't 
wear this." Amy breathed a sigh of relief. Maybe Jamie wasn't going to 
be totally unreasonable after all. "But let's bring it along, shall we? 
I'd like to see it on you when your make over is complete."

"Makeover?" Amy asked incredulously, "Who said anything about a 
makeover?" Jamie turned around with her hands on her hips and just 
stared at her. "What would you call the tattoos, the haircut, all the 
training Barbara and I have been taking the time to give you? Oh, it's a 
makeover all right, I'm going to make you into my bitch and you're going 
to love it." Amy wiped a tear from her cheek, "But I thought, . . . I 
mean if you don't like me the way I am, why did you . . . ?" Jamie, 
irritated by Amy's sniveling, brushed off her question and after 
choosing a couple of pairs of shoes, told Amy to carry everything to the 
car.

"I need to stop at that all night drug emporium Barbara," Jamie said as 
her mother started the car, "I won't be but a minute." While Jamie ran 
into the store, Barbara climbed into the back seat and "permitted" Amy 
the pleasure of licking her pussy. When Jamie came out and saw Amy's ass 
in the air and her face buried in Barbara's snatch, she laughed, tossed 
the small bag in the front seat and slid behind the wheel. In a couple 
of minutes, they were in front of her building. Turning around she 
slapped Amy on the butt and said, "OK you lovers, break it up, we're 
home."

Amy, red-faced from her exertions and embarrassed by Jamie's reference 
to lovers, sat up and wiped her mouth with her hand. "Grab your shit, 
bitch," Jamie snarled as she got out of the car. "We've still got work 
to do and I have to be up early, remember? It's a work day!" Amy lugged 
her clothes up to Jamie's apartment, leaving a trail of dropped shoes, 
bras and panties through the lobby. The man behind the security desk 
laughed at her, but made no effort to help. Barbara followed shortly 
and, with an exasperated sigh, bent and retrieved Amy's fallen items. "I 
don't know why she brought these," she muttered, "I doubt if she'll ever 
wear them again."

Upstairs, Jamie had already begun preparations for the next step in 
Amy's transformation. She took out a bottle of peroxide she'd purchased 
and called Amy over to the sink. "Put your head in there, bitch," she 
said as she put her hand between Amy's shoulder blades and forced her 
over the sink. The women quickly transformed Amy's hair from light brown 
to white and when she looked into the mirror, she didn't even recognize 
herself. "Now it's in your palette," Jamie laughed as she looked at 
Amy's new hair. Amy stared in stunned disbelief at her reflection. "My 
hair," she said, "my wonderful hair. Oh, God!" then she started to cry. 
Surprisingly, Jamie put her arm around her and held her as she wept. 
"There, there, Amy-girl," she whispered, "don't cry over your hair. Come 
on, let's go to bed. In the morning, when we're dressing you for work, 
everything will look brighter."

Amy looked around the one bedroom apartment. "Where do I sleep? Is there 
a sleep sofa?" Jamie chuckled, "No silly. Why you're going to sleep in 
my bedroom. Here, let me show you." Jamie took her arm and gently guided 
her into a bedroom dominated by a queen-size round bed. Amy sat on the 
bed, testing it's firmness. After the too-hard mattress at Barbara's, 
this was a big improvement. Even if she would have to endure Jamie's 
groping, she thought, at least she wouldn't wake up with a back ache.

"Not there Amy," Jamie said, "You sleep over here. You're only allowed 
on the bed when I want you to pleasure me." Amy looked and saw that 
Jamie had spread a blanket on the wooden floor beneath the window. "You 
expect me to sleep on the floor?" she said incredulously.  "It's either 
that, or I can chain you in the closet," Jamie said. "Either would be 
more comfortable than a cell at the Federal Women's Prison in Alderson, 
West Virginia. That IS where they send criminals like you, isn't it?"

(End of Part 2.)

