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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  	The 'Bookshelf collection' offers a very wide variety of    o
o  stories. They have been submitted by people from all over the  o
o  world.  Also from alt.sex.stories (Newsgroups).   There is no  o
o  particular  order  other than offering them to you in  alpha-  o
o  betical directories.                                           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


An English Vacation (family)
by Washington Irving
Originally published by "TheEditor"

*

			1.  The Beginning



She popped the last of the batter-fried cod into her mouth and washed
it down with the dregs of the pint of bitters.  The remaining mealy
french fries (chips?) she would leave without regret.  Jimmy was
already finished and looked as anxious as she to get to their room and
collapse.  They had kidded each other through the 'pub-grub' supper as
to who would get the first hot shower.

They had arrived in England that morning, after an all night flight
featuring a six hour time change.  Both she and her son had slept only
fitfully in the cramped seats, arriving - after a breakfast neither
was ready for - into Gatwick airport at 8 A.M.  Greenwich time.  She
had booked ahead into an inn near Stratford upon Avon, the one at
which they now ate.  She remembered from her only other trip to the
British Isles that the best way to conquer the time change was to get
on the new sleep schedule as quickly as possible, so they had doggedly
crammed themselves into their tiny rental car and spent the day seeing
castles, churches, and picturesque villages.  Jimmy went along with
her doubtful jet-lag theory - or at least refrained from complaining.

Actually, she was pleasantly surprised with his attitude.   After the
divorce, it had seemed certain that he would go to live with his
father.  But after spending a week with James about a month before,
Jimmy had announced he would stay with her.  In a surge of relief, she
had planned this vacation for the two of them, not thinking until it
was too late that travelling through England with his mother might not
be a thirteen year old boy's idea of a thrilling time.  His smiles
seemed sincere, though, and she attributed to an overactive
imagination her feeling that his eyes showed an amused superiority at
her enthusiasm.  

As they returned to the car to get their bags, she wondered anew at
Jimmy's rapid growth over just the past six months.  He was now a full
four inches taller than her own petite 5' 1" and lanky as a colt.  She
was thankful for his new male strength - the suitcases would have been
too much for her without him along to take the larger ones.  Now,
hopefully, a quick check-in, then a soft bed...


The jet-lag must have really set in.  The inn-keeper's words echoed
meaninglessly in her fogged mind.  "... you did ask for a double room
... last one available ... other hotels and bed and breakfasts in the
area full also... busy season..."  Why was he restating the obvious,
and looking back and forth from her to her son?  Yes, they were
sharing a room, but they could change in the bathroom and each stick
to their own bed.  They were mother and son for chrissakes!

She nodded and said "Okay... fine... " enough times that the innkeeper
finally took them up to their room.  He paused in front of a room
revealingly labelled 'toilet' and said that they would be sharing it
with some other guests, but it was only two doors down from their
room: very convenient.  Wait, this wasn't right!

"But I specifically asked for a room with bath!"  She could visualize
waiting hours to bathe in the morning.

"Of course, Mrs. MacKenzie, you do have shower and sink in your room."
He seemed irritated at her lack of comprehension.  "If you wanted a
toilet, too, you should have requested 'en suite' facilities.  We only
have two rooms that have private lavatory and bathing facilities and
both of them are taken.  Our historic old buildings were not built
with modern plumbing in mind."

Yes, yes, en suite.  She remembered now.  Oh, well, at least they had
a private shower.  Had she brought a robe so she could brave the
corridor for a late night pee?  She almost giggled at the thought of
shadowy people in various stages of undress wandering the dark inn
searching for a potty.

The inn-keeper stopped at the door to number four.  "Well, here you
are.  If I can be of help, let me know.  Full English breakfast from
eight to nine thirty."  He handed her the key.

She opened the door and stepped aside for Jimmy to carry in the bags.
As she followed, closing the door behind her, Jimmy turned and gave
her the strangest look, something between panic, confusion, and... was
there hidden amusement?  

"Mom?"

When she looked around the room she saw the reason for his shock.

A tiny room - barely enough floor space to set down the baggage!

One double bed!  For her AND her son!

A shower stall about the size of a British phone booth in the corner
of the room!  (A tiny sink and mirror hid in the opposite corner, next
to that side of the bed.)

Liz MacKenzie sat down in despair on the bed (the only place to sit
except for one upright wooden chair!), her head in her hands.  This
was why the inn-keeper was so confused!  What could they do?  How
could she possibly share the bed with her pubescent son?

Fortunately she had brought only flannel granny nightgowns, since she
had planned for them to share a room.  Again she remembered too late
the proper terminology.  She should have requested a 'twin' room!  

And the shower!  She peeked through her fingers at it, praying it
would miraculously change.  Bad enough that there was no separate
bathroom for privacy, but the shower walls were clear plastic with
just a row of decorative daisy decals about waist height.  Too high to
hide... too low to cover... Oh, damn, damn, damn.

The final, back-breaking straw was that she had booked the room for
two nights.  And the manager had stressed that there wasn't anything
else available!  Anywhere!

The room remained  silent, still, for an interminable time.   Then
Jimmy took a loud breath.

"Mom, this is weird, but I know its not your fault.  We just have to
act natural, I guess."  Act natural, yes.  But how?  She heard Jimmy
kick off his shoes.  When she looked up he was pulling off his shirt.
"I got first shower.  I feel kind of funny, but you're my mother, so
you've sure seen me naked.  I assume I was born that way."  He laughed
nervously at his attempt at humor, and she looked up to give him a
smile in response.  His undershirt flew onto the bed.  Then, he looked
deeply into his mother's eyes, and, with a slight shrug of his bare
shoulders, in a quick motion pushed his pants and jockey shorts down
together.  Stepping out of them, he stood nude in front of her looking
as embarrassed as only a teenager going through puberty could be.

It was right in front of her face.  A smooth tube of flesh, arcing
downward.  About four inches long with just a small tuft of
reddish-brown hair (the MacKenzie blood) above it.  She knew well from
her experiences with James and, well, with at least one other man,
that it was about half way between soft and hard.  She was glad they
had chosen circumcision... My God, woman, her mind screamed, don't
stare, he's your son!

She looked up at his face, her cheeks crimson.  He stared back,
embarrassment, surprise, and that unfathomable something else flitting
across his features.  He turned around and walked toward the shower.
He glanced back once as he opened the shower door, catching her
staring at is compact, teenage ass.

She whirled away and tried to busy herself with some unpacking.
Heaving the biggest suitcase onto the bed, she extracted a nightgown
and toiletries.  But her body was reacting to her son's maleness; and
her gaze kept returning to the shower, where through the clear sides
she could see her son's... her son's handsome cock.

She resolutely tried to keep her thoughts on the problems with the
room, their plans for tomorrow, anything!  But, oh Jesus, now he's
soaping it, and the ball-sac beneath.  Is it growing?   Is he washing
it or stroking it?  Shit, he caught me looking again!  She had
forgotten that if she could look in below the daisies, he could look
out above the daisies.  She quickly went around the bed so that as she
worked her back was to him.  She could feel the moistness in her
crotch, though, and her nipples ached in their hardness.  Finally, she
heard the shower being turned off and the shower door open.

"Mom, could you get me a towel?"  

Towel?  She glanced back at him in confusion and for the first time
noticed that there was no rack on the stall.  Her eyes searched
dazedly around the room, and she saw that the towels were hung by the
sink on the other side of the bed.  She moved back around the bed, got
one, and turned to bring it to him.   Act natural.  Act natural.

He was standing, facing her, an uncertain smile on his face.   As she
walked toward him, however, her eyes could not help but stray downward
again, and, unconsciously, she licked her suddenly parched lips.  He
reacted, automatically and strongly, and she realized by the tell-tale
bouncy twitch of his manhood that he was involuntarily hardening.  Her
eyes came back up immediately, but the damage was done.  He tried to
stifle a groan and moved both hands in front of his rising penis.  She
held the towel out to him and turned away as soon as he took it.  One
of his shielding hands, however, had necessarily moved away from his
now almost completely upright organ to take the towel.   As she
turned, she saw out of the corner of her eye that he was a man beyond
his years.

Six inches?  Yes, at least.  Not as big as his father, or, some
others, but really, he's only thirteen.  She stood still, frozen,
staring vacantly at the far wall, the image of his stiff staff burned
into her consciousness as he dried himself a few feet behind her.  

Slowly, out of the daze that had befuddled her since dinner (she
really shouldn't have drunk that pint of ale!) the thought crystalized
that she would have to take the next shower.  Oh, Liz, you stupid... !
She should have undressed while Jimmy was showering and draped herself
with a towel.  Then, perhaps tell him not to look while she was
washing in the stall.  Now what?

Her son brushed by her (what was that rubbing against her hip?) and in
one motion whipped the towel onto the bed and plopped down on his
stomach on it, facing her.  "Your turn, Ma.  The water gets hot fast,
so watch out."  He kept up a light patter as he looked up at her, but
his white, firm buttocks, still brazenly bare, captured her attention.

As if hypnotized, she kicked out of her shoes and unbuttoned her
blouse.  His small talk about the flight and their day together
provoked automatic replies as she shed the blouse and opened her
slacks.  When she stepped out of her pants she suddenly realized she
was in her underwear standing less than three feet in front of her
thirteen year old child.  Her face reddened and she would have dived
under the bed but for the words that kept appearing in her mind:  "Act
natural."  What could she do?  Make him stand in the corridor wearing
his towel while she bathed?  Her body was, after all, nothing to be
ashamed of.

She really didn't look her thirty-two years.  Her hair was almost
black, and she had it cut pixie-short.  Her upturned nose and small
mouth made her face look almost adolescent, but her body was mature.
She still wore her light, wispy 34C bra, but it did nothing to hide
her aroused dark brown nipples.  Her great pride was that even with
C-cup breasts, which looked huge on her diminutive form, she needed no
support.  Oh, they bobbled, but did not sag at all.  She could pass
the pencil test easily.  Her waist was 21", and her hips widened
gracefully to 33" (34" if she'd been sneaking desserts).  Her
translucent white panties were french-cut, in fact almost a thong in
the rear, and her shiny black pubic curls had been trimmed and
partially shaved to fit inside the panties' sharp vee.  The shadowy
dark patch of hair formed a perfect triangle pointing down to where
the wispy silk clung to her damp, swollen labia.  Her legs were long
in proportion to her short frame - her crotch was almost at the same
level as Jimmy's when they stood side by side.  To be succinct, she
was the most beautiful and desirable female her young son could
imagine.

She realized she'd best get on with it, her underwear wasn't hiding
anything anyway (act natural) so she reached to unhook her
front-opening bra.  Just as she undid the clasp, she noticed that
Jimmy's butt had started flexing, pressing his hips rhythmically into
the towel.  She suddenly felt like a stripper forced to perform for
some Lodge smoker.  As the expression goes, she lost it.

"Jimmy!  What in the world do you think you're doing?  This situation
isn't just an excuse for you rub yourself off on the bath towel.  I'm
your mother, for God's sake, not some slut in a Penthouse magazine.
Yes, a Penthouse magazine like those you hide under your bed when
you're not masturbating."  Jimmy's head snapped back as if she had
slapped him.  Tears formed in his eyes.  She began to realize that she
had overdone it by mentioning the magazines.  She had never meant to
admit she knew about that.  It was his secret: every boy's secret.
But once started, she couldn't stop.  It was as if all her fears and
frustrations burst out at once.

"Roll over!"  She pushed at his shoulder, and, in shock, he docilely
rolled onto his back.  "I knew it.  Can't I trust you at all?  Look at
you.  Don't you have any self-control?  You're disgusting!"  It was
true that his young cock stood hard and swollen.  The dark red of the
pulsing corona and the shiny drop of precum testified to the height of
his excitement.  As he looked up at his furious mother, though, her
now naked breasts waving in his face, he seemed to calm and his face
suffused with something akin to anger.

"Oh, yeah, mom.  It's all my fault I got a boner.  I tried to make up
for you getting this crazy room by ignoring the situation.  But you
kept looking and looking at my dick.  Even sneaking peeks while I was
showering.  Now you've rolled me over so you can scope it out close
up.  Well, look, dammit," he arched his back, thrusting his pelvis at
her, "but if I stare a little at the most beautiful woman I've ever
seen, please don't think I'm some kind of creep."  He lowered his eyes
and sniffed.  "I'm sorry about the Penthouses.  Sometimes I just can't
help wanting to... to jack off!  I won't do it any more."

It was like cold water splashing her face.  She dropped to one knee
next to the bed and stroked his hair gently.  "Jimmy, I'm so sorry.
Oh, how could you ever forgive me.  Of course you became excited.  And
when a man," she emphasized the word 'man', "gets excited his penis
gets... erect, whether he wants it to or not.  You couldn't help it."
She took his face in her hands and gently kissed his brow.  (He almost
gasped at the feel of her soft, naked tits against his shoulder and
chest.)  "You're right, my darling son, I did stare at you.  I was
surprised and proud at how much of a man you've become.  And thank you
for the compliment about my figure.  But really, your old mom can't
compete with the 'young chicks.'  I'm enough of a realist to know
that."

He put his arm loosely around his mother's shoulder, hoping she would
remain pressed against him.  "No lie, Mother, if your picture was in
Penthouse, they'd sell out, and all the men in America would be
walking around with hard-ons."

Liz MacKenzie laughed and squeezed Jimmy against her.  "Now don't fib,
your nose will grow.  And believe me, I don't mind at all about the
girlie magazines.  If you didn't masturbate I'd worry about you!  I
was just so frustrated and tired that I took it all out on you.  I
deserve a spanking, not you... "  Her voice trailed off.

His chin was on her shoulder so she couldn't see the change in his
expression at her words.  His voice stayed meek and mild, however, as
he asked,  "So can we just try to be natural together?  Even if I
can't help getting excited now and then?   I'll try not to."

She was still feeling guilty and apologetic, so she had to accede.
"Of course, dear.  We'll just remember we're mother and son.  If you
get an erection, I'll just try to ignore it and take it as a
compliment."  It sounded reasonable, but she had misgivings even as
she spoke.  What was she getting herself into?

She released him and straightened.  Now she couldn't be coy.   She
couldn't make him turn around or look away.  He faced her but remained
on his side, hard cock projecting from his groin.

"Well, I might as well relieve the suspense," she laughed hollowly.
She threw her bra onto the bed next to Jimmy and bent to slide down
her panties.  He watched with concealed delight as her breasts hung
wobbling and her Venus mound appeared.

She stood erect, legs slightly apart.  Arms raised and spread.   His
eyes fastened on her cunt lips, completely revealed due to her pubic
trimming.  They were slightly open, and the reddish-pink flesh inside
peeked through.  A sheen of moisture covered the inner slit.  

"Well, here's your ol' ma, buck naked.  Now if you're done gawking why
don't you unpack your things while I get clean."

She pirouetted gracefully and strode toward the shower.  Her young son
almost came all over the bed watching her magnificent ass flex and
sway.

Two people seemed to go very purposefully about their business for the
next fifteen minutes.  Liz MacKenzie washed her hair and scrubbed
herself dutifully.  But she kept her eyes either closed or downcast.
She didn't want to catch her son ogling her, and deep down she knew he
was.  So she moved around in the shower, presenting each part of
herself to his gaze, hoping that once the novelty had worn off, it
WOULD be possible for them to be natural around each other.

Jimmy MacKenzie busied himself unpacking, but his eyes never left his
mother's body.  He was learning how desirable a woman could look wet
and slick with soap.  Her nipples were engorged - almost an inch long
- and her pussy looked glistening and swollen.  She even spread apart
  the lips as she washed, as if she wanted him to see her completely.
He seemed to intuit that she would not glance up, that somehow she
would be afraid of catching him.  He thought briefly about jacking
off.  Jeez he was horny!  But unconsciously he realized that he would
be letting his mother off the hook.  Especially if she saw.  Better to
keep her feeling that she was somehow responsible for his sexual
frustration.

When she finally finished, she saw that he had donned his jockey
shorts - she assumed he would sleep in them - and was fetching a
towel.

"Oh, thanks, hon.  I should have remembered."  She held a hand out for
it.

He moved in closer to her, however, and gently pushed on her shoulder,
turning her around.  Before she had time to question or protest, he
had draped her head with the heavy towel and was firmly rubbing,
drying her hair.  Her initial tensing at his approach was immediately
replaced by tendrils of pleasure that began in her scalp and flowed
down her neck to her back then surged through her whole body.

"Aaaaaaahhhhhhh!  Oh, Jesus, Jimmy.  Your allowance just got doubled.
Just do this for me every day of my life!"

All the exhaustion and tension was pouring out of her, replaced by a
heavenly lassitude.  She made no protest when, her hair dried, he
proceeded to dry her back.  His strong hands, working over the towel,
kneaded her shoulders, provoking another sensuous purr.  As he worked
down her back, she began to tense - he could see her white ass cheeks
tighten and begin to clench - so he skipped down to her calves, drying
and kneading.  She relaxed again, but suddenly he sped up, rubbing
from her knees up her thighs, and before she could react, he was
drying (and still kneading, kneading, kneading) her soft, bare
buttocks.   After her acceptance of his original ministrations, she
couldn't find the words to stop him now.  How did he know that her ass
was the key to her sexuality?  He made a careful project of it: drying
every inch, almost hurting as his fingers dug in.  He even ran the
towel, firmed by his fingers, down through her nether crack, then back
up it again.  She shivered in a confused flurry of thoughts and
sensations.

When he softly pulled on her arm to turn her around, she could tell he
was squatting behind her, staring at the shaved regions between her
lags.  She couldn't let him... not her front!  She turned enough to
reach for the towel.  "I think I'd better take it from here, dear."
She tried to smile gently.  "We'd better not overdo this 'natural'
thing."

He released the towel, blushing slightly.  She faced him, shielded by
the towel, and started to dry herself.  He rose part way, then tried
to crab backward toward the bed.  In spite of his efforts, she could
see his hard-on tenting out his underpants.

She felt reassured by his boyish embarrassment.  "Jimmy, would you
hand me my nightgown?  It's there on the pillow."

He turned his back with some relief and reached across the bed for the
gown.  Grabbing it, he was turning to hand it to her when it unfolded
in his grasp.  He paused and examined the long, bulky garment.

"Mom, its summer.  Why do you want to wear this flannel thing.   Look,
long sleeves and it will reach your ankles.  Did you plan this so
you'd be all covered up with me only in my underpants." He
straightened, showing graphically that his erection hadn't completely
disappeared.

"It's what I brought along, let's leave it at that.  It's what I want
to wear."

"Look.  It's still got the price tag on it.  $7.95 at Walmart?   Since
when are you buying clothes there?  And why did you buy this special
for our summer vacation?  What do you usually wear to bed?  That would
be more fair!"

She didn't want to answer any of his questions.  Yes, she had bought
the flannel gowns for this trip to cover herself completely.  She
didn't plan ever to wear them again so she bought cheap ones.  And she
certainly didn't want to admit that she had slept naked for years and
years, ever since...

"Look, Jimmy, just to keep the peace and get some sleep, I'll sleep in
my underwear just like you."  She passed a hand over her eyes.  She
shouldn't, but couldn't bear another argument.   "Hand me my bra and
panties and let's get to bed."

As her son turned to the bed again she couldn't see the gleam in his
eye and the hint of a smile on his face.  He had moved the suitcase
off the bed and placed her flimsy undergarments prominently on the
quilt.  He picked one garment up with each hand and eyed the bra
critically.

"You're not going to bother with this, are you, mom?  I saw the lines
it made on your skin when you took it off.  And I'm only wearing one
thing.  To be fair... "

"Damn it, Jimmy, why do you have to push it.  All right!"  She was
close to screaming.  Please just let me sleep!  "I'll just wear the
panties.  You're not fooling me though, mister, you just want to see
my boobs."

She drew on the sexy panties as Jimmy got under the covers.   She
walked around the tiny room, turning out lights, knowing that her
suddenly sex-crazed (no, that was unfair) that her young son coming to
grips with the reality of sex was watching every bounce of her big
breasts, every twitch of her rippling butt.  With a sigh of relief she
slid under the covers.  One more thing to make clear.

"Jimmy, this was never supposed to happen, us sleeping in the same
bed.  There's bound to be some contact as we roll over in our sleep,
we'll have to live with that.  But if I wake to find even one finger
of yours touching where it shouldn't, you're sleeping on the floor for
the two nights.  Is that clear?"

"Yes, mom."  Timidly.  Two full minutes of silence, then:  "Can I ask
one question?"

"Yes, dear."  Said with a tired sigh.

"When men get excited by a girl, they get hard-ons.  They can't stop
it.  Does something like that happen to a girl when she gets excited
by a man?  I'm not trying to be dirty, mom, I really want to know."

What could she say?  It was a reasonable question, especially with the
problems he had had that evening.  She was his only parent now that
James was out of the picture, solely responsible for his sex
education.

"Things do happen to women, Jimmy, but they're less apparent.   A lot
of the time a woman's nipples will enlarge.  She'll get little
hard-ons on her breasts."  She giggled with him.  "What really shows
that a woman is aroused, though, is moistness or wetness in her
vagina.  It's called secreting, and when a woman is extremely excited
it can even leak out on her labia and onto her inner thighs."  Whew.
Her own secretions had started flowing just from talking aloud about
it.

"Oh.  Thanks, mom."  

She sensed him turning onto his side to go to sleep.  That's it?
'Thanks, mom'?  She had sweated bullets talking to a thirteen year old
boy about what hot, horny cunts are like and all it's worth is 'Oh'?
A weird ending to a weird day.  She closed her tired eyes and tried to
quell those fiery tinglings in her crotch.

			 2.  A New Day

    Three male faces loomed before her, each grim.  The counten- ances
were shadowed but terrifyingly familiar. She could make out that they
differed greatly in age.

   "Naughty! Naughty girl!"

   The words echoed from three mouths as she stood cowering in front
of them, head lowered in shame. She wore a simple girlish dress with a
short flared skirt, white cotton anklets and patent leather shoes. She
could feel she was naked beneath the thin dress.  The booming voices
sent chills of fear and excitement down her spine to her rear
sphincter which clenched spasmodically. She opened her mouth to
protest, to beg, to plead that she hadn't done anything wrong, that
she wasn't being naughty...

   And was shaken awake by the bed bouncing beneath her.

   It was already light, but the red digits on the bedside clock
showed 5:30. From some stray memory synapse her mind made precise the
time as A.M., Greenwich Time. That connection caused memories to
slowly slide into place in her sleepy brain as the vivid dream lost
its hold and faded. She was left with the mysteriously vibrating bed.

   Liz MacKenzie turned toward the boy sleeping next to her. He was on
his stomach, mouth open, with almost a grimace distorting his
features. The quilt had been pushed down and she could see his
underwear-clad hips grinding rapidly into the mattress. His breathing
became rapid barking gasps as his hand pushed under him toward his
abdomen.

   She almost panicked, almost grabbed and shook him or screamed for
help or something equally stupid. Just in time she realized that for
the first time in her life she was witnessing a male in the grips of a
wet dream. It was something she had always tried to imagine in her
erotic thoughts about men.  She watched in aroused silence as the pace
frenzied, he stiffened, and then his hips rammed into the bed and he
growled out his climax.  She suddenly desperately wanted to use her
fingers, a pillow, anything, to duplicate for her awake and almost
painfully stimulated self what her son had just done asleep.

   Fortunately, he stayed asleep, so she had time to collect her
thoughts. To her credit, even though she knew he had unconsciously
masturbated in incestuous lust for her body, she never felt angry, but
instead sympathized immediately. The night before he had viewed her
entire body, had rubbed and caressed her nakedness through a towel. He
had seen things and done things beyond the wildest dreams of a
thirteen year old boy.  She was surprised he had been able to sleep at
all without relief. She certainly had had trouble. And now he's going
to wake up to damp embarrassment with no way to hide it.  She tried to
think of how she could pretend nothing had happened, or be out of bed
when he got up.  She decided that nothing like that would work. Well,
she was intimately involved, was his mother, and was placed in a
situation where only openness could possibly work. So she laid back,
closed her eyes, and tried to get a little more sleep before he awoke.

   

   She only dozed, her mind filled with thoughts and memories that did
nothing to alleviate the sexual ache in her body. It was still only
about 6:00 A.M. when she felt purposeful movement against her hip.
Then a mournful groan and a loud whisper:

   "Shit!"

   He had turned onto his back, their sides touching.  She rolled
toward him and lifted herself on an elbow. Now her pelvis was pressed
against his side and one bare breast rested on his shoulder.  She
suddenly realized she was presenting him with a closeup view of her
naked chest, but she didn't want to make either of them self-conscious
by squirming away at this particular moment.

   "Good morning, son. It gets light early here, doesn't it?"

   He mumbled a reply. She could tell that he was trapped between the
desire to move away so she wouldn't feel the sticky wetness of his
shame, or to snuggle closer against that nipple which was hot against
his flesh.

   "Jimmy, I know what happened." She touched his briefs. He jerked as
if a live wire had touched him. "Believe me, there's nothing to be
ashamed of. It happens to all virile young men, especially after a
sexually frustrating night."

   "Aawww, mom." He first made as if to turn away, hands covering his
groin, but then realized he had the excuse to cuddle. He moved his
head toward her, placing his cheek against her lower breast while his
breath ignited lustful embers in her upper one. She flushed as he
watched a nipple swell and harden.

   She breathed deeply but didn't move away.  "Now listen. No damage
has been done except to a pair of underpants which I will be happy to
wash out for you. Now stay exactly as you are, young man, and that's
an order."

   She drew away from him and rose from the bed, still nearly naked.
The sink was on her side so she merely turned to it, took a wash rag,
and wetted it thoroughly with warm water. During the night her french
cut panties had drawn up completely into her buttocks furrow, so Jimmy
had a magnificent view.  She wondered why she had put on this
particular pair of panties, panties she usually only wore when they
were likely to be admired. Returning to the bed, she knelt over her
wide-eyed son, placed the rag on his stomach and gently started
pulling down his sticky jockey shorts.

   "Mom!" But he remained motionless, only closing his eyes.

   She tugged the briefs off his feet and threw them into the sink.
Then, reclaiming the washcloth, she began to gently wash his abdomen
and smooth, boyish sex organs. Her original intention was to give him
reassurance and motherly care, but from the first moment her fingers
touched his secret flesh another part of her being took over. She
somehow resisted an almost overpowering urge to kiss his limp penis,
but could not keep from stroking and petting it with her soft fingers
as well as with the cloth.

   The fact that only thirty minutes had passed since his last climax
meant nothing to a thirteen year old adolescent with a beautiful,
almost-naked woman's deft hands caressing him. Jimmy's head came up
and his eyes gaped as his mother lifted his cock with one hand,
alternately squeezing and tickling it, and spread the warm cloth
around his balls with the other. He was hard again in seconds.  Her
expression didn't change - even though her pulse rate doubled - as she
held the stiff member up by its base and gently, but oh so thoroughly,
bathed it.

   "There, I think that's got you clean.  Just a second, I'll get a
towel."

   Her eyes never left his groin as she tossed the rag in the sink and
found a hand towel. She came back and wrapped him in the terry cloth,
then gently rubbed and rubbed and rubbed to dry him off.  Finally she
squeezed the towel encircling his hard cock, then pulled up firmly to
complete the job.  As the rough terry cloth slid up and off he almost
'came' along with it. A moment of silence followed as his breathing
slowed down. Both of them seemed hypnotized by his pulsing cock.

   "Mom, jeez," he looked at her naked breasts, her revealing panties,
"I guess I should thank you. That really felt... God, it felt good.
But what do I do now? If I even last till tonight it's going to happen
again. But, Mom, I don't think I can last until tonight."

   She slowly drifted out of her sensual haze and returned to mother
mode.

   Oh, damn. She felt her color rise: what had she been thinking of?
If she had washed it immediately, while he was still sated...  No,
with a teenager there's probably zero recovery time. Each time I do
something it gets me in deeper and deeper.  Now he was close to
demanding that some sort of sexual activity occur.

   "I'm sorry, Jimmy, I didn't think. I just didn't want you to be
embarrassed. This is going to sound completely crazy, but we'll have
to change the rules so masturbation is allowed. No, not just allowed,
encouraged. If you want to, well, 'jack off' now. Feel free. We can't
have you walking around like that all day, these British girls would
steal you away from me." She tried to smile while his expression
became unfathomable. He almost looked like a chess master working out
strategies many moves in the future.

   "Really? It's okay?" His face became, too suddenly, youthful again.
His expression resolved into innocent puzzlement. "Do girls mistibate
too? Cause I can see that you're excited just like me."

   Her arms instinctively wrapped themselves around her torso to
shield herself. "Jimmy! How dare you!" But she looked down and saw
that all the signs that she had taught him were visible. Nipples stiff
as soldiers, and her panties! She'd have to wash them along with his
cum-stained shorts.  Between her spread thighs the whole shield area
was discolored and visibly damp. She dropped her arms, defeated - to
the relief of her son, who was knew there was a possibility that she
would blow her top again.

   "Yes, Jimmy," she breathed deeply, "women do mASTURbate. And, yes,
I guess I've become sexually excited handling you. But I don't think
it would be a good idea at all for me to do... things... in front of
you. Remember, I'm your mother, and you're only thirteen."

   "Well then, remember, I'm your son, Mom! Do you think it would be
easy for me to beat my meat with you just watching? And you need to do
it as bad as me, don't you? You didn't have a wet dream, and you were
excited last night, too. I saw!"

   He beamed at his youthful logic. When his mother didn't reply, but
only stared blankly at him, he sensed correctly that he had won if he
proceeded without reawakening her sense of responsibility.

   He gently put his hands on her shoulders and moved her down onto
her back next to him on the bed. No resistance. So he sat up and,
grasping the sides of her panties in his two hands, slid them down her
body. As he pulled them away from her crotch he could feel the wet
stickiness attempting to hold them in place. His mother felt it, too,
and she seemed to surrender to the evidence of her secret, burning
lust, lifting her hips and legs to help him.

   He tossed the garment next to his in the sink.

   He moved her legs apart, displaying her sex as fully as in the
Penthouse photos he loved. He was happy she trimmed her pubic hair
away from her snatch, like most of the Pets did.  He knew the little
knob near the top of her damp lips was called a clit. And it was
bigger and redder than it had been last night.

   He heard what sounded like a stifled sob in her throat.

   Lifting her far hand, he placed it on her mound and draped its
fingers down onto her pussy. The close hand he placed on her tittie.

   "Show me, mom." He whispered. "Show me what girls do."

   As if a robot under voice control, her hands started to move. He
saw her stroke her breast delicately, then work at her nipple with the
tips of her fingers.  Small, pimple-like bumps covered her aureole
around the stiff nipple. Soon she was pinching and pulling at the dark
central nubbin, harder and harder. She groaned but kept at it,
seemingly in a trance.

   At the same time her other hand began moving, her fingers lightly
skipping over the whole region from her navel, down to her pelvic
bones and pubic hair, around her swollen pussy lips and onto her inner
thighs. After what seemed to be minutes of this teasing, her three
middle fingers began concentrating on the lips, the middle one lightly
stroking up over the red swollen button - her clit! The other two
started to press against the sides of the clit's sheath as she
concentrated on this area exclusively. They were always talking about
'clits' in Penthouse Letters.  According to the letter writers, it was
what really turned a chick on. And boy, it was working on his mother!
Her hips were beginning to move in rhythm with her stroking.

   The surprising success of his gambit so far made him want to try
more. Her eyes were now open, but she was staring at the ceiling, as
if trying to convince herself she was alone.  She felt his hand gently
pull hers away from her tit. He laid this arm along her side between
their close bodies, and as it relaxed, he moved slightly so the back
of her hand rested against his hard prick. She felt one of his hands
start to knead the soft, full breast her hand had abandoned, and she
shook her head no, but her other hand kept pressing and teasing her
aroused clitoris.  When he pulled that hand away, stopping her now
compulsive masturbation, he had to tug firmly as she groaned and
resisted. He drew it up to her far breast where it automatically began
copying the motions of his caressing hand, tweaking the engorged
nipple with three fingers.

   Now his free hand moved to her belly.  The skin - his mother's
delicate skin! - was wonderfully soft and smooth. Her stomach muscles
rippled and she groaned "Nnnnooooo" at his touch, but he copied her
earlier touches until his fingers were gently brushing her inner
thighs and perineum. He concentrated on this region, even tickling her
anus briefly, then moved up with three fingers, as he had watched her
do, onto her labia and to her clitoris.  He pressed the nub with his
middle finger, then released and squeezed the sides with index and
ring fingers, repeating this pattern rhythmically, until her pelvis
again began to move in response. His explorations were not complete,
however.  He decided to solve THE puzzle.

   The ultimate adolescent boy's question has always been 'Where's the
fuck-hole?"  There has to be one, but even the spread shots in the
girlie magazines don't show any way a big hard dick could get up
inside the girl. Jimmy had to find out. His three fingers moved down
his mother's slit, pressing inward, and suddenly, amazingly, they were
sucked into a wet, clinging pit!

   "Aaaaahhhh!! Jimmy! NO! You can't do that!"  But she wasn't
screaming, just whispering loudly, her head shaking rapidly back and
forth, but her eyes still blankly focused on the plaster ceiling.

   He knew enough not to take her at her word. She was absolving
herself from responsibility as his mother, nothing more. Instead he
removed his other hand from her breast and used it to wrap her free
hand around his hard cock. She grasped it with a fervor that was
almost painful to him. As he began moving his fingers in and out of
her foaming cunt, she kept up a counterpoint on his rigid dick.

   After just a few seconds, he knew he would cum if she continued.
He moved her hand down from his cock to his balls. "Slow down a
little, mom. This is the most awesome thing ever to happen to me -
with the sexiest broad in the world. I don't want to shoot right
away."

   Impulsively he leaned down and kissed her lightly on the lips while
wiggling his fingers in her hot hole. She emitted a guttural sigh and
pulled him down onto her, kissing him passionately with open lips and
invading tongue. He learned quickly, and they stayed entwined, his
fingers driving deeper and deeper, again and again into her splayed
cunt. Meanwhile, with womanly expertise, her fingers gently touched
and teased, stroked and squeezed his inner thighs, balls, and
throbbing prick.

   Finally, her hip movements became frenzied.  Strange sounds came
from the back of her throat. She closed her fist on his iron-hard cock
and pistoned rapidly up and down. He matched her motion, keeping his
fingers slightly spread and stiff as they rammed into her. As he felt
the sperm rising inexorably from his balls, his mother's hips rose a
foot - no, two feet! - off the bed and her cunt gaped so wide his
fingers couldn't feel the sides. Her face was a grimace as she tried
to stifle a scream.

   "Ooohhhh! G-g-godddd! M-m-m-mommm!" His cry couldn't be stifled as
an explosion of his cum spurted violently all the way up to her chin
with such force that it splattered. Then her inner muscles contracted
mightily and squeezed his invading hand like a vise.  Gasping, she
opened again just as he shot a second wad onto her breasts. Their
mutual contractions kept on and on and on... until hers diminished to
twitches of her pelvis, and his to dribblings onto her belly.

   He flopped down onto his back, completely spent.  They lay side by
side, afraid to look at each other, as their breathing returned to
normal.

   "Jimmy..." Her voice trailed off. She could think of nothing to
say, no way to give voice to the turmoil of emotions she felt.  After
a few minutes - an eternity to both of them his hand edged slowly to
hers and gently held it. She squeezed. He squeezed in return. Their
communication complete, both closed their eyes and slept as the new
day brightened around them.

			 3. Coup d'Etat

   When Liz MacKenzie awoke it was nearly eight o'clock. She was still
sprawled on her back, but Jimmy had rolled into a fetal position, his
back to her. She decided to let him sleep - she had laundry to do.

   She smiled. She hadn't had this kind of laundry since her honeymoon
fourteen years ago. She rose, stretching, and looked down at herself.
Dried cum. She'd wait and shower later. Jimmy would feel cheated if he
didn't get to watch...

   Hmmm, she shouldn't think that way, but on this particular morning,
what the hell!

   As she ran the basin full of hot water and scrubbed the underwear,
she began dancing from one foot to the other. Damn.  Bathroom two
doors down and I'm buck naked. She wrung out the panties and jockey
underpants and draped them on the towel rod. Her eyes searched the
room for something to slip on quickly. Flannel nightgown: no, Jimmy
might think she was reneging on her promise.  Her blouse and pants:
too much trouble. How about a naked dash. She giggled silently. When
she was still with her former husband James she'd probably have ended
up walking slowly and deliberately down the corridor absolutely naked,
embarrassed to death but directed to greet anyone with a smiling "Good
Morning." A tremor ran down her spine, finishing at her clenching
anus. That part of her life was over.

   What about Jimmy's shirt? It had tails, fore and aft, and she was
shorter than he, especially through the torso. It would cover
everything vital. She quickly donned the shirt, feeling wicked and
shameless. Except for some tightness across her chest (she had trouble
buttoning two of the buttons), and the fact that it didn't button all
the way down, so it might just flutter apart exposing her matted
mound, it seemed to be okay. And she had no time to change her mind.
Oh, God, if the bathroom is in use, the corridor's going to have a wet
carpet.

   She opened the door and remembered just in time to take the key.
With a deep breath she drew her head up and shoulders back. She was
roguishly determined not to look down at the condition of the shirt-
flaps. She marched slowly to the lavatory, entering it and closing the
door softly behind her.. The room was free, so she sat and emptied
herself with a sigh of relief. Exiting the bathroom, she started to
retrace her steps. Behind her, she heard a door opening. Was the tail
covering her? It felt like it was, but the hem of the shirt rose up on
her sides worse than a French cut bathing suit. Her hipbones were
exposed. She continued her slow, stately walk down the hall. Could the
person see? Did he realize that she had nothing on under the shirt?
After an eternity, she reached her door and tried to insert the key
without bending. The lock turned. She opened the door...

   And tripped on the sill, tumbling onto the bed, bare ass high in
the air.

   Jimmy awoke with a start as his mother's body hit his legs. He
looked down toward the foot of the bed in time to see her scrabble
down onto the floor, crawl with her pretty, naked tail wagging, and
close the open door.

   He finally got the whole story out of his embarrassed parent.  His
poorly stifled laughter was infectious, and Liz finally joined her son
in giggly speculation on what had gone through the mystery spectator's
mind during her 'performance'.

   By the time they calmed down, Jimmy was fidgeting with the need to
piss, but his mother decided - to his disappointment - that the shirt
would not adequately conceal his dangling member. So he donned his
pants and hurried down the hall. When he returned they took turns
showering (and watching). Jimmy insisted on drying his mother's body
slowly and thoroughly. There was no question this time of who would
dry her front. He noted to her that one small area (between her legs)
kept getting wet, no matter how many times he dried it, but she pushed
away his invading fingers, insisting that they simply couldn't spend
their entire vacation in one continuous orgy. With a melodramatic
groan, the boy stuffed his latest erection into his briefs. They
dressed and went down to breakfast.

   A full English breakfast is a feast, and the innkeeper, a bulky but
not particularly fat man in his forties, was particularly solicitous
of the American mother and son. He went out of his way to ask if their
DOUBLE room had been satisfactory. His grin almost became a leer when
Jimmy assured him the two of them had had a wonderful night together,
while Liz shrank, blushing, into her chair. She almost choked on her
bacon when the man added that he was pleased that they had had no
trouble finding the toilet in the morning. He winked at Jimmy as he
commented that he would have to fix that door sill.

   Gathering up their camera, umbrellas, and other tourist gear, they
set out to see Stratford and the surrounding countryside. The day was
warm and stayed fair - a 'glorious' day as the English would phrase it
- and aside from the usual problems that foreigners have driving the
  British roads, their sightseeing was most satisfactory. Stratford
was a disappointment, even to Liz, so they quickly got out of that
tourist trap and headed down toward the Cotswolds.

   As the day progressed, however, Liz had more and more misgivings
about the events of the preceding night and morning. She was sensible
enough to realize that she wasn't some monster sexually abusing her
child. Perhaps some thirteen year old girls needed to be protected
from some adult men (she wasn't even sure of that), but any thirteen
year old boy worth his salt would give 'his left nut' (she smiled to
herself at the male phrase she had picked up at some unremembered
occasion during her own adolescence) to do what Jimmy had done with
ANY female between 11 and 40. No, it wasn't societal taboos. The main
problem was that she had lost the control she needed as his mother.
She could still feel his gentle but so firm hands directing hers that
morning in bed. She had been like a marionette on strings, doing and
even feeling exactly what her puppeteer wanted her to.

   She had spent so much of her life controlled by others... She had
thought she was free... Didn't she really want freedom?

   Late in the afternoon, they walked along a public footpath between
two fields. The breeze was cool, the vistas were splendid, and there
didn't seem to be another human being for miles. Jimmy took her hand
gently and walked beside her. A few minutes later, however, his arm
slipped around her waist; and as they crested a hill and paused to
enjoy the view, he gently but firmly pulled her to him. His open lips
approached her mouth, his hands slid down from her waist to clasp her
yielding buttocks, pulling them apart as he squeezed one, then the
other. The sensations were so immediate and strong she almost
surrendered to her ardent son. With an effort of will, however, she
smoothly turned her mouth aside, brushing his warm lips. She gave him
a motherly peck on his cheek, and simultaneously pirouetted from his
grasp. She mumbled a smiling admonition about being more careful in
public, but her troubled mind kept returning to the coming night in
that tiny room. In that double bed!

   The last straw came at dinner that evening. They had stopped at a
small restaurant recommended by their tourist guidebook. As they were
eating dessert, Jimmy started chattering eagerly: No need for clothes
in the room, huh, Ma? I bet neither of us goes to sleep horny tonight
(a leer and a quick caress of her knee under the table). We might as
well wait and shower after - although I'd really get turned on
watching you soaping yourself before, Mom.

   Not wanting a confrontation in front of bystanders, Liz kept a
smile on her face. Her only contributions to his impassioned talk were
frequent pleas with him to lower his voice. As they walked to the car
after she had paid their check, she finally began to voice her
reservations about their conduct the previous night.

   During the short drive to the inn and as they mounted the stairs to
their room, she explained over and over that what had happened the
night before was not really wrong, but she had a responsibility to be
his mother first, and that was incompatible with being his lover. She
tried to preserve his ego by stressing that if he acted as maturely
and sensually with his future girlfriends as he had with her that
morning, he would be the most popular guy in his school. She
emphasized that she had enjoyed it, he had enjoyed it, but they must
both allow it to fade into a beautiful memory. As they walked down the
corridor, she told him that they would have to discuss and agree on
new rules of conduct for their last night's stay in this small room.

   Throughout her speech, Jimmy made no argument. He seemed
interested, but in a strangely remote way, in what she had to say.  As
he closed the door behind them after they entered the tiny room, he
finally spoke, his adolescent voice pitched unusually low but
thunderous to his mother's ears...

   "Has LIZZY-BUTT been a naughty little girl?"

   Elizabeth MacKenzie froze, her back to her son. Her knees almost
buckled as she heard the words that had ruled her youth. In her mind
she became eleven years old again, although the ritual went back much
further than that... back to before she could even remember. The
particular time that her mind was reliving she had been ordered into
her father's dark, paneled study, and from behind her back as he
closed the door, her father had spoken the same words her son spoke
now. There had never been more than one acceptable answer then. She
could not keep from repeating it dutifully now.

   "Y-y-yes, sir, I've been a naughty girl."

   Jimmy walked around her and sat at the bottom of the bed. He was
attempting to keep his demeanor severe, but there was a hint of awe in
his eyes - awe that it had been so easy: that the simple question he
had uttered had changed the female in front of him from a lecturing,
confident adult to a humble, cowering child with stooped shoulders and
downcast eyes.

   She knew her part in this, and was completely conditioned to play
it, but she ventured one query outside the script. She had to know.
"Did James tell you about this when you visited him?" Her voice was
soft, timorous. Her former husband was the only other person who knew,
who understood.

   "Father explained enough so that I could take over for him and for
Grandpa. But no more of that. What naughty things has Lizzy-Butt
done?"

   This was the question she hated most. Sometimes her Daddy had known
something she had done. In that case, she had better confess it, or be
punished until she did, then get a double dose for not admitting it
immediately. Often she didn't know of anything bad she had done. If
she made up something really naughty the punishment could be severe.
But if she made up something fairly innocent he might keep pumping her
for more. Once she had 'confessed' to a whole list of sins, and he had
merely patted her head and told her that she hadn't been too bad and
skipped to the part after the queerly exciting pain. She had tried to
be especially pleasing to him that evening, but had felt a peculiar
hollow feeling as if she had somehow not met his expectations.

   In this case she didn't have to think long. Jimmy certainly
wouldn't consider their nudity or sexual contacts as wrong.

   "I gave you reason to think we could... do s-s-sex things together.
Then I would tell you we couldn't. I wasn't f-f-fair or honest last
night or today."

   "That's all? What about reserving this particular kind of room
- and that underwear you had on yesterday wasn't what you'd wear to
  church!"

   "I really don't know. I've been thinking about that all day." She
took a deep breath. "I guess I wanted you to see me as something other
than a thirty-something year old mother."

   "Do you know what men call girls like you?" His voice was harsh,
but his eyes were on her body, not her face.

   She was lost, what did he want her to say? "I don't know, Jimmy.
I'm sorry for what I did."

   "First, never call me Jimmy again. In public you can say 'Jim' or
'my son', but in a respectful tone of voice. When we're alone like
this I think you should give me an English title - you must've chose
this country for some reason. Call me 'Lord'. Dad said he was
'Master'. Do you understand?"

   Could she make herself call her thirteen year old son 'Lord'?
Should she?

   "Yes... my Lord."

   She had passed beyond the pale. She had belonged body and soul to
her father, then to her husband, now... now to her son. Three men. She
remembered last night's dream. Was this her wish all along?

   "Second, you do know the answer to my question, and I'll give you
one more chance to tell me what people call someone who acts like you
did." His rephrasing of the question allowed the penny to drop in her
dazed mind. "A w-wom... girl like me is called a prick-tease... " the
hesitation grew into a dead pause. The boy waited. "... my L-L-Lord."

   "What are you, mother?"

   "I'm a prick-tease, s-s... Lord."

   "Should you be punished, prick-tease?" His smile was almost evil.
He knew now she was his helpless slave.

   "Yes, my Lord."

   "I'm waiting."

   He had learned the lines well. The ritual called for her to bare
herself from the waist down. It was worst when she wore a dress or
body- stocking. Fortunately she was dressed in slacks. She slowly
pushed them down her legs. Although she had pranced about the room
naked in the early morning light, stripping like this, under the
glaring ceiling bulb, under duress, was humiliating. Her cotton
panties followed her slacks, and she stepped out of both. She stood
humbly, fuzzy pubic triangle on display in front of her son. As she
stared down at it, she saw to her complete mortification that it
glistened with her need.

   "Over my lap." He picked a corner of the bed and sat so that the
width of the bed was on his left.

   She moved around and lay across him, feet on the floor, thighs and
pelvis across his lap, upper torso and head on the bed.  Automatically
she assumed the posture dictated by her father long ago. She locked
her knees and spread her legs. This served to arch her back and
present her soft ripe rump slightly in the air. It also opened her,
exposing her two most personal orifices to the spanker's eye.

   "Wow!" Jim was 'Lord' but he was still an adolescent. He was in
heaven. He owned this gorgeous ass! His hands stroked the soft, yet
firm flesh. He ran a finger of his left hand from her coccyx down the
crack to the dark asterisk of her anus. Her pelvis shrank from him
briefly as she gave an almost inaudible bleat, then slowly rose back
up to contact his exploring digit. From her childhood on her sexuality
had been centered in her rear. The touches, the spankings, the...
rest. Her father's touch, her husband's, finally now her son's all
left her flushed and panting.

   Jim left that finger in place, tickling and teasing, and slid his
other hand down onto the backs of her thighs, then up their inner
surfaces. When he reached her slightly opened outer labia, all his
pretty mother did was shudder in surrender.

   "Hey, Mom, you're wetter that you were this morning. You must
really get off on being punished."

   The "Wow!" hurt her soul. How could her former husband have done
this to her! This was just a very young adolescent and she was forced
to consent to him probing her secret female places. The man was crazy,
criminal! But her hips rolled and bucked as her son's fingers found
her clitoris. Her eyes briefly teared. Perhaps some psychologist can
figure me out and put me on Oprah. I can't help being this way!

   "Dad told me that you were still in charge for parent stuff. I
can't just decide to start driving the car or anything like that.
I've got a letter for you from him that you can read later. But he
said you'd get off on being a slave, and I can see he was right!" He
held his fingers, moistened from her rut, in front of her nose.

   "Well, naughty girl, I guess you're waiting for your spanking.
With all that noise in the pub downstairs, nobody's going to notice a
few slaps." His hands left off their obscene investigations.
Immediately she sensed the familiar air movement, the slight whoosh of
a spanking hand, and her left buttock resounded with his first hard
slap. And hard it was! He was only thirteen but it seemed to sting
worse than the spanks she had received from large muscular men.

   Jim had been given a lot of advice by his dad. He had learned that
a 'Master' should never let up, never be gentle thinking about the
soft, vulnerable flesh in front of him. He had to convince this mature
woman lying across his lap that he was a Man. She had to learn to fear
his anger. Then she truly would be his.

   The punishing slaps slammed down in measured cadence, back and
forth from cheek to cheek. He stopped after fifteen, his hand
stinging, her ass crimsoned. Next time he must remember to make his
mother keep count.

   She sighed with relief as his hands went back to their soft
caresses. She hurt with stinging pain and knew her hinds were fiery
red, but thought that it wasn't too bad. To her dismay and
embarrassment the thought ran through her mind: 'Now he will fuck me,
he'll scratch his rosy-assed mommy's horny itch.' Her body tingled
even as she tried erase the forbidden thought.

   But again the hands left off their roaming. CRRAACCCKK! His hard
palm and stiff fingers left another pale white imprint on the
crimsoned cheek. This time he worked his way down to the backs of her
thighs, pausing between spanks just long enough for the pain to peak.
Soon she was making mournful yipping noises after each swat.  He could
see tears running down her flushed cheeks. He stopped again.

   This time his stiffened fingers began probing into her holes.
Three fingers explored her dripping cunt, a wriggling thumb reamed her
asshole. She gasped out one anguished "Noooo!" but soon was
rhythmically pressing her belly against the hard spear under his
jeans. A third time the hands abandoned her. The punishment resumed.
Impossibly, he had held something in reserve, his arm was swinging
harder than she had thought possible. Each of these HURT, HURT, HURT.
She began babbling, begging, crying for him to stop.  She swore she
would never be naughty again, would never be a prick-tease again,
would be his slave.

   When he stopped again, he spoke.

   "That's forty-five. You're due fifty. The last five will all go on
one ass-cheek. You choose which one."

   "Oh, God, Jimmy, please, no more." She was gibbering. Her
fingernails were digging into her palms. "Please! My whole rear end
will be one big bruise tomorrow. Don't make me choose!"

   "I'm afraid you made two big mistakes there, my sexy Mommy."

   "Whhaa... Oh, no, really, I didn't mean to call you 'Jimmy,' my
Lord. Please, Lord, I can't think. I hurt so much!"

   "That was your first mistake. I warned you about using that name.
The penalty is another whole round of fifteen. I'll try to keep to
your thighs, since you're so worried about your precious ass."

   When the first blow came down she started to sob in earnest,
gasping at each savage stroke (how could he keep hitting so hard?).
About halfway through, however, Jim noticed that although the crying
escalated, at each spank her knees bent and then straightened,
propelling her thighs and buttocks upward to meet the next one.
Finally, the volley ended. Her legs quivered from the tension and
strain.

   "Your second mistake was not choosing between your left and right
cheeks. I guess I'll have to give five more to each of them."

   There were no pleas or complaints, but her whole body sagged.  She
had no more strength to struggle against her fate.

   With a final effort she pushed her punished ass into the air to
receive the blows. "I-I-I'll try t-t-to h-h-hold myself up f-for
these, but I'm s-s-so exhausted, and I h-h-hurt so m-m-much."

   "I'll tell you what. If you want I'll postpone your final ten until
tomorrow morning. But the ten I give you then won't be with just my
hand. I suggest you choose this time, unless you want both again."

   She didn't hesitate. She didn't know what he had in mind, but ANY
delay was preferable to more punishment on her bruised and beaten
butt. "Please, my Lord, I would like you to finish tomorrow."

   "Fine, my arm's tired anyway. Get up! I want you naked,
Lizzy-Butt!"

   She staggered to her feet and peeled her upper clothing off.

   Meanwhile, Jim had also begun stripping.

   "Spread your legs and play with your naughty cunt while I finish
undressing, my dearest mother, I want you nice and juicy for my first
fuck."

   Liz's legs automatically drew apart and her fingers attacked her
clit. The fire on her backside and thighs had spread to her crotch as
it always did. But the phrase 'first fuck' rang in her head.  Yes, she
wanted to, needed to have sex. Her body cried out for satisfaction.
But with her son! Her son who had never had sex with a girl before.
This was illegal, immoral... terrifying!

   Jim finished undressing and flopped on the bed on his back, his
pulsing erect cock rising at an angle toward his chest. "Are you
ready, prick- tease? Is your little pussy ready to swallow my prick?
Are you a horny bitch?"

   "Yes, my Lord." She moved toward the bed.

   "Wait a minute. Yes, What?" He idly stroked his balls.

   She stopped and took a deep breath. "Yes, Lord. This little prick-
tease is ready. My little pussy is ready to swallow your prick.
I-I-I'm a h-h-horny bitch." Her use of the vulgar language toward her
son sent a spear of shame - and excitement - through her, while
causing Jim to giggle in adolescent glee.

   "Good. Now come up here and slide that cunt down on my cock. You
can do all the work, and you had better be good." His grin was wide.
He was almost laughing. "Dad says Lizzy-Butt screws better than a
thousand dollar whore."

   Hopeful to avoid any further humiliation (although it was nice to
know her former husband still thought 'highly' of her), she quickly
climbed up on the bed over him. He was forcing her to initiate the
action... to fuck him. But he was also being kind. She knew from
experience how much it would hurt if she were on her back with her
sore buns pressed into the bed. As she looked down on his slim, almost
hairless body, she couldn't help lowering her head to give his hard
organ a quick kiss. "You may punish me for saying this, but, Jimmy, I
love you so much."

   Briefly, her son's face softened and his eyes shone, but quickly he
regained his composure. "Then prove it, prick-tease!" He arched his
pelvis toward her meaningfully.

   She knelt upright with one knee on either side of his chest.
Reaching back, she took his sensitive cock gently in her hand and
lowered herself backwards toward it. When she had fitted it between
her nether lips, she took her hand away and leaned forward with arms
outstretched and hands on the mattress just behind his head.  She
lowered her head and brushed his open lips with hers. Then bit by bit
she pushed her tongue slowly into his mouth as her hips descended and
his penis pressed into her tight wet vagina. His groan of pleasure
almost rose to a scream as she oh so gradually engulfed him completely
and her tongue danced hotly against his.

   She was filled for the first time in months and wanted to rut with
abandon, but knew that she must go slowly, her adolescent son was too
near the edge. Her body was now pressed against him, her pebble-hard
nipples drilling into his smooth, hairless chest. She kept her pelvis
perfectly still and locked to his as she taught him the delicacies of
deep kissing.

   As she held him tightly inside her, he reached his arms around her.
At first he was content to hug her firmly to him, but after a few
minutes his hands descended down her back to her bruised and sore
buttocks. He was not gentle, squeezing and pulling at the warm, spongy
mounds. The pain approached that of the spanking itself, but her
initial gasp changed quickly to a keening hum of passion. Finally she
rose up to almost a sitting position, but still leaning forward so
that her breasts filled his vision. Inch by inch, with agonizing
slowness, she lifted herself up from his belly, the muscles in her
cunt alternately clasping and releasing as they gradually let go of
his rock-hard cock. When only the purpled head remained within, she
stopped and stared down at him.  Mother and son remained perfectly
motionless as if in a mental duel. After what seemed an eternity she
slammed herself down lodging him all the way to her cervix.

   He dug his fingers into her bruised ass-flesh, pulling her away
until his boiling prick almost left her clinging labia, then pressing
her down onto him with such force that the bed bounced and shook.
Again and again they slammed together then bounced apart, faster and
faster until her hum became a soundless scream and her facial muscles
contorted with pain, pleasure, and that indescribable merging of the
two which is the slave's orgasm. He watched her passion, amazed and
aroused, until his own erupted soon after her peak. His gonads
contracted then spewed upward his own completion through his swollen
cock and into the depths of the womb from which he was born. They
collapsed, panting and spent.

   

   "What happened next?"

   "What?" She was still in a mindless state, her body and mind
sending her incoherent signals.

   "With Dad and Grandpa, what happened next?" He rose slowly to an
elbow and gazed down at her. With one hand he began tweaking her
engorged nipples.

   She flushed and looked away. In some last fit of shame she couldn't
make herself tell him the secret things his father and grandfather had
made her do!

   He pinched a nipple cruelly between his thumb and forefinger.
"Tell me, Lizzy-Butt, or we'll start all over again. My hand is sore,
but my belt isn't. Speak up!" As he threatened her he began twisting
her nipple; with the final command he yanked it out away from her
chest, pulling her breast into a stretched cone. Her eyes teared, but
she did not struggle.

   "Aaaahhh! Please, my Lord, it's difficult for me to talk about
your... about my former Masters. Ooohhhh Gggodd! That hurts so bad.
I'll tell you! Just don't pull so hard and I'll tell you anything!"

   "Tell me, then I'll let go." He leaned forward and nipped the
stretched nipple hard with his teeth.

   "Aaiiee! No, J... my Lord. All right. Sometimes they'd have sex
with me and that's all. We'd go to sleep or return to our normal
activities. Other times I'd be put in punishment restraints or
positions. What else? Well, usually I'd have to... clean them up."

   The tugging eased. Jim held the punished nipple firmly, but not too
painfully. "How did you clean them up? With a washcloth and towel,
like this morning?" His eager face seemed to indicate he had found
that very enjoyable.

   She hesitated slightly. "Yes. Warm, moist washcloths and gentle
attention. Shall I do that for you now?"

   "Yes." He released the nipple, which paradoxically sent one final
jolt of pain through her.

   She rose, relieved, and went to the sink, picking up a fresh cloth.
She was surprised to notice her son get up behind her. He moved
quickly to the door and opened it, staying behind it out of sight. She
was in full view of anyone through the open door. In her panic to
cover herself she noticed that the corridor, thankfully, was empty.
The noise from the pub below was more distinct.

   "I think you should dampen it in the washroom down the hall.  Then,
when you've decided to tell me the whole truth, stand outside the door
and knock respectfully. If I'm convinced of your sincerity I'll let
you back in. Out!!"

   He reached out and caught her arm. She allowed herself to be
propelled out the door. She was stark naked in the hallway, her
buttocks were red and bruised, and she was obviously freshly fucked.
The door slammed shut. She heard the bolt thrown with finality. For a
moment her mind refused to work, but she finally realized she had
better move quickly toward the communal toilet before someone came.
She literally ran down the hall, breasts bouncing, body beginning to
react to the exhibitionist aspect of her embarrassing predicament.
When she arrived at the restroom and turned the knob it was... IN USE.
She was whirling around, looking for a place to hide when the door
opened and a man appeared.

   "Your turn, luv... My Gawd, you're in a bloody hurry, ain't you.
Undressin' before you even get your pretty arse inside." He was
staggering drunk, but as she ducked by him into the safety of the
toilet, he was able to paw her breasts clumsily and get the other hand
between her legs. One finger found its mark, poking into her recently
filled hole, and emerging covered with her son's spunk.

   "Ya need a douche, doll, but I don't mind a bit. Come out, come
out, and let me feel yer tit!" From the safety of the locked wash room
she heard him giggle at his own drunken poetry.

   Now what? The drunk seemed to be content to wait for her forever
outside the door. She listened. He was mumbling... now he was singing!
Oh, God, shut up!! Would her son help? Probably not. He knew she had
lied about the washrag. She always had to clean James' and her
Father's privates orally (and thoroughly). Jimmy - no, not Jimmy, Jim
or Lord - must have known and was testing her. And found a punishment
for lying worthy of his forebears. Her vagina still felt the roughness
of the drunken man's assault. She dampened the washcloth mindlessly
while she wondered what would happen next.

   After about five minutes, to her infinite relief, she heard the
uneven stompings of the drunk staggering away.

   She waited several minutes to be sure he was really gone, then
quietly unlocked the door and opened it slightly. The hall was empty!
Holding her breath, she sped on tiptoe back to their room.  She ran
directly up against the door, pressing her face and flushed breasts to
the wood. "My Lord, please let me in." Her voice was pitched low, but
she tried to make her words distinct through the door. "I beg your
forgiveness for the lie I told you. I always sucked my... my men clean
after they came. Please allow me to do the same for you. Please,
please open the door. Someone has already seen me and could make
trouble."

   "Someone has seen you and you are in trouble!" A large hand seized
her upper arm and spun her around. It was the burly innkeeper, smiling
evilly. He raised his voice to be heard through the door. "Young lad,
you'd best let your mum and me inside before we draw a crowd out
here." His gaze swept down the petite woman's naked body, stopping at
her pubis. "I see by that cum dripping down your leg that you're
freshly fucked. By someone in the peerage, I believe you said. A
'Lord', eh?"

   Liz MacKenzie belated tried to cover her firm breasts and trimmed
crotch, but the muscular man gripped both her arms and clamped both of
her slender wrists in one huge hand. He pulled her arms above her
head, stretching her body out as her toes clenched to maintain contact
with the floor. She grew faint in her terror as the other hand started
on her forehead and slowly inched its way down her face, the fingers
tracing her lips then down onto her neck. Inevitably they reached her
straining breasts and paused to tease the carmine teats. Just as she
opened her mouth to scream, Jim opened the door and the burly
innkeeper moved into the room, lifting her along dangling by her arms
like a marionette. As she strove desperately to maintain her balance
on her tiptoes, she saw that her son had donned shirt and pants before
opening the door for her. The boy moved behind her and she heard the
sound of the door close and the lock click. 

			  4. Foul Staff

   "Please let us be. My son and I aren't hurting anyone. This isn't
what it seems." Jim remained silent by the door, unsure as to what
would occur, fearful that he had placed his mother and himself in some
jeopardy. The speaker, Liz MacKenzie, remained nude, dancing on her
tiptoes, her arms stretched above her. The massive innkeeper, whose
bulk seemed to fill the small room, held her wrists far above her head
with one strong hand. In her terror she begged pity while her
wriggling body held the depraved attention of the grinning man.

   "Isn't what it seems, Luv? I can't quite imagine what it seems to
be, you see, if it doesn't seem to be a slutty mum fucking with her
young son and prancing naked about a public house. By chance, the
local constable is a friend of mine and having his pint downstairs.
Would you care for me to tell him how you asked for a room with one
bed and a shower to share, then turned up dressed only in your skin in
a hallway with your son's spunk running down your legs? My friend is a
church-going man, a family man, you know.  Shall we list your criminal
offenses? Public Indecency, but that's small change. How about Incest,
then there's Child Abuse as I believe they call it these days - are
you under 14, lad? Our prisons are not the country clubs you have in
the States, deary, and I'd wager you'll be a resident of one for a
long, long time."

   Young Jim began to get nervous. His mother's embarrassment in the
hall had merely excited him, but this--- The older man saw the concern
in his eyes and gave him a wink, unseen by the woman, who now hung
limply, her head down in despair.

   "Gosh, Mister---" Jim realized he should play along.

   "Mr. Donald Bonds, boy. Don's my name to you, but I'm Mr. Bonds to
your whorish mum, here."

   "Okay, umm, Don. Couldn't you just keep our secret instead of
getting the cops? Mom kind of likes to be compelled to do things, and
to keep out of jail she'd better do anything you say. How about it,
Mom?"

   "Jimmy! I mean, son, I mean--- I couldn't--- I'm not--- Oh, please
let us alone, Mr. uhh--- Sir. Please!" Her head came up and she
straightened her back, presenting her delicate, upthrust breasts to
the innkeeper. She sensed that this was no longer a question of
prison, but of how much pain, embarrassment, and debasement this Mr.
Bonds could heap on her. Her face was flushed from a combination of
mortification and exertion. She still feared this English innkeeper,
because unlike with Jimmy, or James, or her father, the humiliation he
would force on her would not be tempered by any affection or permanent
ties. However, the very fact that he would use her without pity, would
force her to demean herself completely, excited her in spite of
herself. She noticed that Jim's expression had changed to that
mysterious, superior one that she had just learned signaled his urge
to dominate her.

   "So your pretty mother will obey me - do anything I say - eh, lad?
You're quite a young man, then. Have yourself a sex slave at only,
what, thirteen? And your own mum, no less!"

   Jim beamed with adolescent pride and walked to his mother's side.
One hand reached out and stroked her slim, bare flank and buttock
possessively. "How do you like her? Not bad for a middle-aged woman,
eh?"

   Bonds roared with laughter, pulling and twisting the dangling woman
as his body swayed with his convulsions. Middle-aged woman?  When she
had an elfin body and the fresh face of a twenty- year-old? Grinning
widely, he turned Liz to face him. "You wizened old slut, you! You
don't mind if I call you 'slut', do you?"

   "Please, M-m-mister Bonds, leave us alone. Let me at least clothe
myself."

   "Clothe yourself? Why should an exhibitionist slut want to cover
herself? Son, you'd best open the door. I'm going for the constable. I
ask a simple question and instead of an answer I get a whiny whore
pretending to be a bloody blushing virgin."

   Jim, who now was enjoying the game, quickly unlocked the door and
flung it open, exposing his mother's body to anyone who happened to be
passing in the hall. She squealed, but the hallway was empty. Bonds
let go of her hands and started to walk out the door.

   "Wait!" She thought - hoped - he was bluffing but couldn't take the
awful chance. Her hands remained above her head in what she hoped he
would recognize as a slave pose. She lowered her eyes humbly. "Yes...
I mean, no, I don't mind if you call me 'slut'.  I-I-I'll be y-y-your
s-s-slut if you don't r-r-report m-m-me." She forced the words out
slowly, contritely. She was sexually surrendering herself to a
stranger with her son watching. And learning.

   Bonds paused as if considering. Liz realized she was expected to
make some further entreaties. She turned around and moved her feet
apart, pushing her hindquarters back for inspection. The bruises were
still all too evident across her white buttocks. "See, my lordly son
punishes me when I'm bad, so I have to obey. I hope you won't have to
spank me."She looked back over her shoulder and caught his eye
challengingly.

   "That's better, my sexy American whore." He re-entered the room and
pushed the door shut behind himself. "I'm going to have to slip back
downstairs to the public room. There's still plenty of patrons wishing
a last glass, and I'll need to quiet old three-pint Baker down. He's
the bloke you slutted around with outside the lavat'ry.  Fortunately
he's known far and wide for seeing sights when nothing's there.

   "While I'm gone, Jim, clean the slut up--- And be sure to have her
clean you up like she ought to have!" The big man winked at the boy.
He paused to consider. "Oh, yes, she thinks she's needing something to
wear. I think there's the perfect thing in the wardrobe, there." He
strode to the armoire in the corner of the room and, reaching in,
pulled out a clothes hanger.

   Jim looked puzzled. "There's nothing on that hanger."

   "I think your mother can figure out how to wear this." He handed
the hanger to the dazed woman. "Slut, put it on!"

   What she saw was a hanger for a woman's skirt or suit. The upper
slopes of the hanger were of smooth varnished wood, curved to hold the
shoulders of a jacket or coat. To the horizontal wire connecting the
ends of the wood underneath were attached two spring-closing clips
from which a skirt could be hung. Each of these clips slid along the
wire to adjust to skirts of varying width. They were highly tensioned,
to hold heavy woolens. The gripping edges, however, were coated with
plastic to avoid damaging the garment. Liz was playing the clips
absently along the wire in confusion when an awful light dawned.

   "Oh, no, please! The hanger's too heavy! Nooooo."

   "Show your son what a slave's garment is like - or would you like
another one for between your legs?"

   Her eyes widened at the further, even more shocking thought.  Then
her demeanor became one of total submission, while tears appeared in
the corners of her eyes. "Yes, sir." Lowering her head, she placed the
hanger on the bed and began teasing the nipples on both breasts with
her fingers. They hardened rapidly, too rapidly to be solely due to
her deft ministrations. Then she retrieved the hanger and, taking a
deep breath, opened one of the clips and let it clamp down hard on the
stiffened nib on her left breast. Her eyes squeezed shut briefly and
she emitted a high, urgent yip of pain. Then she held the hanger
upside down horizontally across her chest and adjusted the other clip
until it came even with her right nipple. She snapped that clip on,
repeating her expression of agony. Holding the metal and wood object
in front of her, she stared pathetically at the innkeeper, pleading
with her eyes. But he just smiled and nodded. So she slowly released
her hold on the hanger, putting its entire weight on her nipples, and
placed her arms back above her head.

   She began moaning; and the tears filled her eyes and began running
down her cheeks as the tortured nipples stretched downward under the
substantial weight. Her arms came back down reflexively and her hands
reached for the horrid device, but at the last second she took a
shuddering breath and courageously raised her hands back up. Her
breasts were elongated downward with rapidly purpling nipples. She
peeked once at the lustful expression on Jim's face and squeezed her
teary eyes shut with a moan. Her son had learned a new trick.

   "It's close to 'Time,' so I should be back in an hour or so.  Jim,
I know you'll make sure she stays 'dressed' since it was so important
to her. Ms. MacKenzie, ma'am, would you get the door for me?" He
smiled evilly.

   Liz walked slowly to the door, attempting to keep the hanger from
bouncing or swaying, but she gasped and stopped several times as it
swung and wrenched one nipple or the other while she covered the short
distance. Without being told, she pulled the door wide open, remaining
in full sight of anyone in the corridor. Bonds walked out confidently,
disdaining to even look at the naked, agonized woman. When he was out
of sight she closed the door and faced her son.

   First, of course, she had to 'clean' him. He had her undress him
and then kneel at his feet while she gently laved his rapidly
hardening cock and sensitive balls with her tongue and lips. She used
all her skill to arouse him slowly and pleasurably, because this was a
respite from the unbearable strain to her breasts. While she licked,
she kept one arm pressing the hanger against her body, in this way
holding it up. The clips still squeezed her poor nipples, but
thankfully they had grown numb. She thought Jim probably knew what she
was doing, but she guessed he had a little sympathy for her plight
after all.

   Jimmy had never experienced anything so intensely pleasurable.  His
mother's tongue ran lightly over the whole surface of his stimulated
penis, then, abruptly, just as it reached the top of the glans, her
mouth opened and she engulfed his hardness into her soft moist mouth
and moved down over it until he could feel the spasming of her throat
and her nose against his abdomen. But he didn't want to cum. He wanted
to wait for the innkeeper to return so he could participate in
whatever new games the man wanted to play.

   "You'd best shower and clean up your cunt, Ma. I don't think Mr.
Bonds would like it if you were still dirty when he comes back. Oh,
and by the way, from now on keep your arms away from your... what
should we call that thing, your boob stretcher?"

   Her son's attitude almost provoked a sharp parental retort, but she
recalled in time she had freely given him this right to hurt her. So
she dropped her arms and started to rise, but the shock to her nipples
as the hanger jerked viciously downward was too much for her. She
shrieked and fell to the floor on her stomach. The pain was even worse
than when she had first put the device on, because now her teats were
sore and swollen and the absence of pressure for the last few minutes
had allowed their nerve endings to recharge. She looked up pleadingly
at her son. At his red, swollen cock and his bright eyes.

   "Shouldn't have cheated, should you, mommy dear. But get up.  Now!
Or I'll pull you up by the hook on that hanger."

   Liz raised herself up slowly, tentatively, dreading the instant at
which the hanger would lose contact with the floor. Her face contorted
violently as the full weight pulled down, but resolutely she rose
deliberately to her feet and inched her way to the shower.

   The shower held new tortures for her. More than once the hanger
banged against the plastic wall as she carefully washed her intimate
regions. The harsh spray of hot water against her breasts kept the
pain ever new and fresh. Looking out, she saw Jim relaxing on the bed,
stroking his hard penis as he watched her naked travails. Why, in the
midst of this pain, was her whole being yearning for sexual release?

   When she finally finished her ablutions she opened the shower door
to find a fresh towel on the floor in front of her. That boy!  Just
when she concluded that he was completely heartless, he did something
considerate. Drying herself, she went over to the bed and, propping a
pillow against the headboard, settled down next to him, the hanger
half resting on her stomach. She gently pushed his masturbating hand
away and began lightly stroking his prick with her own warm hand. He
smiled, kissed her, and worked his fingers down between her legs,
which she spread wide to allow him full access to her throbbing clit.
Together they waited for the return of Don Bonds.

    *****

   Without warning, the door to the room opened wide and the broad
innkeeper strode in.

   "Well, just can't keep your hands off your young son, eh, you
slutty mum?" Liz and Jim both jerked their hands away guiltily. Jim
pulled a pillow down to hide his erect penis. "Oh, don't worry, lad,
you've got a spear to be proud of there. Perhaps we can have a bit of
fun with your mother together."

   "Don, I think its time my mother was allowed to 'strip naked.' Her
nipples are purple!" Jim tried to sound firm, but inwardly wondered
what he'd do if the burly man said no. Liz gazed at her son in
grateful surprise.

   "Not a bad thought, boy, as long as she behaves and does as she's
bade, she can take her pretty 'jewelry' off. Slut, unclamp your
nipples and come take my clothes off for me. I feel overdressed in
this company."

   Liz gently detached the clips, which caused nearly as much pain as
their original attachment. She rose and approached the brutish man.
She couldn't control the moist tingling between her legs as she
wondered what obscene indignities he planned.

    *****

   Liz MacKenzie couldn't keep her eyes off the painting. Not that
there was anything else to look at. Her table had been pushed flush
into the corner of the dining room, her chair facing the wall. All of
the other guests gathered for breakfast were behind her, wondering
about her; that bastard Bonds had 'suggested' that she not look back,
but remain facing the wall as she ate. He and Jimmy were back there at
a table talking and laughing - she could make out stray words but
couldn't catch the gist.

   But the painting. It was late nineteenth century or early
twentieth, she couldn't tell. Some children playing leapfrog in some
deep grass. Not exactly the leapfrog that she remembered from her own
childhood, though. A fairly young girl - probably just at adolescence
- was bent over, legs apart and slightly flexed, but her hands were on
  the ground, not her knees, so she almost made an inverted V. The
stiff skirt of her short dress stuck out almost horizontally behind
her. A boy, dressed in shorts with suspenders and a white shirt, had
evidently just leapt over her and was landing not far past her bracing
hands, feet splayed wide and arms together pointed stiffly down.
Another boy, similarly dressed, was running toward her from behind,
his arms outstretched toward her rear end, fingers clawed out and
ready to use her upthrust bottom to launch himself over her. A third
boy waited behind him, and a fourth was running the other way in the
background to get in line for another turn. The artist showed most of
the girl's face, inverted between her arms. The boys were happy,
laughing, but the girl's expression was unfathomable. Was there
surprise there? fear?  exhilaration?

   Liz squirmed in her seat. She'd better try to defuse the tingle
between her legs. Jimmy - no, Jim, she had to start thinking of him
that way - had decided she didn't need panties under this denim
miniskirt he had found in a corner of her suitcase this morning. A wet
spot on the back of the skirt would be terrible.

   He had found quite a cache of slinky, sexy clothes, clothes she
only had a vague memory of packing. Among them was a red half- bra
which failed to cover her nipples. She now wore it under an almost
transparent red chiffon top with such a loose neckline that as she
bent slightly forward to eat she could see her breasts and between
them down to her navel. Bonds kept returning to her table, ostensibly
to check whether she needed anything, but really to look down her
blouse. He once even laid his hand on her shoulder, as if avuncularly,
and surreptitiously pressed her upper body forward so that her
neckline would gape open. All men are voyeurs, she thought idly.
Although why Bonds had to sneak peeks of her boobs was something of a
mystery to her after last night.

   Last night. How had so much happened on one warm night in England.
Her son had suddenly become her master. Well, her latest master. He
had punished her, arousing her (she blushed in the shameful memory) in
the process. Then he had--- No, actually then she had fucked him.
Fucked young Jimmy. Her child. Then her stupid lie, and the bathroom,
and Mr. Don Bonds. Do you mind if I call you 'Bastard,' Mr. Bonds? But
she began squirming in her chair again thinking about what had
happened when he had returned to their room and allowed her to detach
the hanger from her nipples.

   She had taken his clothes off--- and discovered he had the biggest,
fattest cock she had ever seen. No, that wasn't exactly true, once
James had brought home a porno tape with, was it Johnny Holmes? That
guy's was longer, but not much. The Bastard, Bonds, (yes, that is a
good name for him) had ten inches at least. And the Bastard's was
thicker. Its glans was like a good-sized plum, almost spherical with
about a two inch diameter. She had gasped in dismay when she uncovered
it, which, of course, the Bastard thought was very humorous. She had
always understood - and her girlfriends had verified - that a man's
bodily stature didn't necessarily correspond to his more intimate
measurements, but this time nature had shaped everything to scale.

   He had made her kneel and 'prime' it, made her lick and stroke it
and finally pushed her head down hard on it as it popped into her
stretched mouth. She could only take a few inches of it. It wasn't
that she gagged or anything like that, it just physically wouldn't fit
into her throat. So she had sucked on the portion of that monstrous
penis that she could reach and wondered if he was going to have her
continue until he spewed his cum down her throat.

   While her mouth worked and she strove to breathe with his hand
pressing his cock into her tonsils, the Bastard had nonchalantly
chatted with Jim about how they would take her. Since her son had
never had a complete blow job, they had decided that she would suck
Jim's cock while the Bastard fucked her. She had nothing against
sucking her son: the deed was horrid, it was wrong, but she loved her
new master's young, smooth cock. But that big prick (she smiled at the
double entendre) screwing her! She had wondered if she could take it.
(She had also wondered, though, how the enormous thing might feel
rammed up her tight rectum!)

   Finally the Bastard had pulled her head away from his rock-hard
penis and begun positioning her on the bed. Looking back on it she
could revel in her forced passivity. At the time, though, she had not
been able to meet her son's gaze in her embarrassment. Jim had been
sitting up with his back against the backboard, so she was placed on
her knees and elbows with her nose in his groin. As she began to kiss
and nuzzle his privates, she had felt the Bastard's weight on the bed
behind her and then his prick pushing up against her exposed vulva. He
had pushed her legs farther and farther apart until his cock-tip
wormed its way against her inner lips. She could feel its size, her
smallness, and squeezed her eyes shut in expectation of intense pain.

   The Bastard had begun chuckling, and told her son to come around
behind her and watch the fun. Jim had swung a leg over her head and
slipped off the bed, asking if it could really fit without hurting
her. But she had been able to tell by the tone of his voice that the
thought of that monstrous rod pistoning into her aroused him.

   When Jim was positioned to see everything, the Bastard, in a syrupy
voice, had told her that rather than him piercing her unprepared, she
should push back and take his cock into her. She had gaped over her
shoulder in dismay, but the looks on both their faces said that it was
utterly useless for her to argue or plead.  So she had tried. The
Bastard kept himself on target, and she could feel a portion of his
enormous glans actually seat itself in her vaginal entrance, but she
couldn't force it beyond that point.

   After a few minutes, the Bastard had mumbled something that HE
thought was very clever (and Jim had laughed at) about 'madonna' and
'like a virgin,' and then told her to crouch forward so that she could
use her arms, shoulders, and thighs to shove herself forcefully back
and impale herself on his prick. Her first thought was that it
wouldn't work, but she knew he would just make her try again and
again. Her second thought was that she must make it work the first
time to get this ordeal over with (and to find out what that big
cudgel felt like lodged up into her womb!) So she had attempted to
picture in her mind his groin, ten inches away from her pussy lips.
She must thrust herself to bring those swollen labia into contact with
that hairy belly.

   Thus she had propelled herself backwards with all her strength.
Immediately her pelvis felt as if it were being split apart. A scream
had burst from her lips, but an oversized paw had slammed against her
mouth, muffling it. The initial backward impulse had carried her on,
and inch after inch of that mighty cock entered her, stretched her
vaginal walls, and pushed painfully against her cervix. When her
motion had come to a stop she felt as if her Ob-Gyn had opened her
with a large speculum and thrust his arm into her up to the elbow. She
hadn't gotten all of the Bastard's meat, though. When he could tell
that her scream had died he had uncovered her mouth and had Jim verify
digitally that there was about two and a half inches still to go. He
calmly grasped her hips, and with a mighty heave, drove himself
completely within her.

   The fuck had been an experience she would never forget.

   When Jim was repositioned she had gobbled him down as if to make
herself forget what was happening behind her. But even as she had
sucked her son, the pain-fullness-pleasure of Bonds' first movements
within her was beyond her prior experience. It had taken him an
eternity - probably about five minutes - to get her stretched and
lubricated enough to allow a full thrust in and out.  She had climaxed
violently on that first thrust. Then, after another unmeasurable
interval of time, she had climaxed again as Jimmy had grunted out his
completion and squirted his sweet, youthful sperm down her throat.
Finally Bonds had stiffened and poured glob after glob of his cum into
her bruised, spasming cunt.

   She had flopped down onto the bed and passed out.

   Now she was sitting in the corner of a public dining room like a
little girl being punished, while trying to calm the erotic excitement
coursing through her from her memories of the preceding night, from
the strange painting in front of her, and from her speculation as to
what lewd plots Bonds and Jim were hatching behind her. Finally her
son came over and asked her if she were ready to leave. His voice was
eminently deferential: no one would ever suspect that she had bruises
on her fanny from the long, hard spanking this polite child had
administered last night. (No, she meant 'rump' not 'fanny.' In England
a woman's fanny was in front, hence the phrase 'fanny pack' made
sense.)

   She rose and turned toward him, nodding. He had a piece of paper in
his hand which he was folding. He put it in his pocket as she walked
toward him.

   "I told Don that we might be able to come back here before our
trip's over. Can we, Mom?"

   Somehow she knew that had been coming. The boiling between her legs
returned. "We'll see, son."

   "I strongly suggest you ring me beforehand so you can stay in the
same room. It would be a shame if there were no accommodations
remaining and I had to book you into the basement dungeon." Bonds and
Jim laughed at the humor, other diners smiled, but Liz wondered.

   She settled the bill. The innkeeper behaved properly - except to
arrange to be directly in front of her while she bent over to sign
traveler's checks - and they loaded up the car and headed toward the
city of Bath, their next stop.

   Liz MacKenzie wondered nervously how that piece of paper in Jim's
pocket, clearly the result of his consultation with Don Bonds, would
alter their itinerary.

	       5.    The Merchantess of Bath I

   A thirteen year old boy is a study in contradictions. At one
moment, he is completely insensitive and egotistic, insulting to
friends and family, appreciated only by other pubescent males; but in
the space of a few moments, that same boy can become polite and
affectionate, even showing flickering glimmers of maturity.

   On this gray English morning, Jim Mackenzie's mood was definitely
in the latter category. As his mother drove, he navigated, reading the
detailed road-maps with a surprising amount of skill. He seemed
genuinely interested in the rolling beauty of the countryside. Even
his remarks of a personal nature were gentle.  At one point, a soft
smile lighting his face as he watched Liz working at shifting gears,
he commented on how beautiful her legs were. His mother's legs were
certainly on display, since Jim had commanded her to wear what
amounted to a micro-miniskirt without any hose or even panties that
morning. But rather than becoming flustered, she felt complimented by
his tone of voice and, squirming under the seat-belt harness, managed
to pull the skirt up above her naked crotch. Her severely clipped
pubis formed a sharp arrowhead aiming down at the swollen clitoris
topping her moist slit.

   "Are my legs pretty all the way up?" she asked teasingly.

   She spent a lot of time after that brushing his questing fingers
away and warning that distracting her could cause an accident.  Once,
in his considerate persona, he asked if he were really bothering her.
She confessed that if bother meant 'hot and bothered,' then he was,
but he shouldn't stop, just be careful when she was nearing a
roundabout or the traffic became heavy.

   They came to the ancient city of Bath late in the morning.  Parking
the car, they took the requisite tour of the ruins and stopped for
lunch. In the restaurant, after they had ordered a sandwich and some
of the city's famous water, Jim took a folded, sealed envelope from
his pocket.

   "I guess it's time you read the message from Dad." He held the
envelope out to her.

   In that instant the atmosphere changed completely. The smile left
Liz's face and she stared at the envelope in dismay and consternation.
He had mentioned that he had been given such a letter from her former
husband and master, but she chased it from her mind.

   "C-c-can't it wait, son? We're having such a n-n-nice time." But
the letter remained in front of her. She stole a glance at Jim's eyes
and saw resolve and the beginnings of his 'superior look.' So she
obediently took the letter and, her shoulders unconsciously hunching,
tore it open. As she pulled out the page of handwriting, a credit card
fell out of the envelope onto the table. It was a gold Visa card with
her name on it. She looked at Jimmy, confused, but when his face
remained blank she began to read. She could have predicted the
beginning of the letter.

   

   

      My darling, dumb ex-wife,

      Since you're reading this, I was right and you were wrong.

      You can't run from your need to be dominated, especially

      sexually. You'll never really want to rid yourself of the

      ecstasy of humiliation at the hands of your father, or me,

      or now your son. But since you wanted to try, we're now

      divorced, and Jimmy, of all people, is your newest master.

      Your MASTER! Liz dear.

      (My visitation rights with him take on a whole delightful

      new meaning! Of course he'll bring his slave - you - along

      to play with my new slave. Have you met Tiffany? She's

      nineteen and has the biggest, firmest tits you've ever seen.

      Right now she's kneeling in front of me naked. She's

      masturbating, but isn't allowed to climax yet - YOU remember

      that drill, don't you? Oh, yes, we'll have great fun.)

      Why the credit card? No, I'm not giving you the power to

      bankrupt me, but Jimmy will probably want to make some

      purchases - paraphernalia and new clothing for you - and

      it wouldn't be fair to use your vacation budget.

      The deal is this: The card is only to be used on Jimmy's

      authority (interesting word, yes?). It's in your name

      solely to make it easy to use. When you get back,

      Jimmy and I will go over the charges to make sure you

      haven't misused it. So don't!

      You know, I'll bet you brought some of your 'slut' clothes

      to England, (ask yourself why?) so perhaps the clothing

      bill won't be too high. I gave our son the magic words to

      control you, but even if I hadn't, I'll bet you would have

      seduced him into mastering you somehow. Anyway, he'll want

      to pick out some new things. Clothes that reflect his

      tastes. (THAT should be interesting!)

      Also, you'll certainly want an enema kit, I KNOW that's one

      of your favorite toys.

   

   Liz stared off into space as she read the word 'enema'. In her
imagination she was fifteen again, tears in her eyes, draped nude
across her mother's lap. Mom was spreading her rear cheeks, while her
father pushed the fat, ungreased tube up her dry, cringing anal hole.
He called it their weekly family health treatment. Her mother, who was
also naked, had already had her gut filled with over a gallon of the
warm soapy mixture. Periodically, mom would moan from a cramp, but
daddy insisted on their waiting for longer and longer periods after
they were filled up "so the solution could do its work." Liz shuddered
and returned to the letter, her rear sphincter tensing.

   

      In fact, tell Jimmy RIGHT NOW that you want him to buy you

      an enema kit. Explain to him what it's for: how you might

      complain and moan while he pumps a gallon of hot water (or

      oil, or BEER - remember that time?) up your little asshole,

      but if you're forced to wait about half an hour with your

      stomach so bloated you look pregnant, then you will have a

      violent, shuddering climax as you sit on the toilet naked,

      shitting out the foul, brown liquid while he watches.

      Tell him all of that NOW! Lizzy-Butt!

   

   

   "Jimmy, when I was with your father, and before that with my
father, I used to get... I used to get enemas. Do you know what they
are?"

   When Jimmy shook his head, his eyes shining with the knowledge that
his sexy mom was being forced to humiliate herself again, Liz went
through the entire litany prescribed by her husband who was 3000 miles
away.  She knew Jimmy would be reading the letter from his father
later and punish her disobedience if she skipped any of the horrid
details, so she even explained the relative merits of soapy water or
heated vegetable oil or... beer.

   When she finished, sweating and embarrassed, Jim said, "If I was to
give you another one of those enemas right after you got rid of the
first one, will the water come out clear? Do you cum again? If it's
beer do you get even drunker?"

   She stared at him for a moment. She was utterly amazed at his
precocious ability to extend each situation one step further than his
forebears. Finally, her blush extending from her forehead to her itchy
crotch, she shrugged as if unsure, then, catching his piercing eye,
slowly nodded her head in the affirmative. She returned to the letter
in flustered confusion.

   

      Well, I guess I'd best not put too many ideas in Jim's head,

      he'll have more fun starting from scratch and experimenting


      with you and your sexy little body. Give this letter for him

      to read as soon as you finish - after all, he's in charge,

      isn't he?

   

		  You'll always be my

		  favorite cocksucker,

   

		  James

   

   After they had eaten and Jim had read the letter, then reread it,
he asked what plans Liz had made for the afternoon. When she shrugged
and said: "more sight-seeing here in Bath, our reservations for the
night are here," he told her that he knew of a store that they should
visit, and looked meaningfully at the credit card, which still lay on
the table.

   A shiver went down Liz's back. The only way Jimmy could know of a
store of any sort in this small English city would be if that bastard
Bonds had told him about it. An intoxicating mixture of fear and
arousal coursed through her. "Do I get a say in this?" she mumbled.

   "Does 'Dad's favorite cock-sucker' deserve a say?" Jim countered,
his eyes alight.

   "N-n-no," she glanced around to see if anyone had overheard, then
dutifully bowed her head and forced the word out, "Lord."

   They left the restaurant and retrieved their rental car. Jim pulled
out a small piece of paper. "The directions start at the center of
town, so we shouldn't have any trouble."

   The drive wasn't long, allowing for the heavy traffic, and led them
to a part of the city that could only be called a factory district.
Liz was beginning to worry when Jimmy told her to stop in front of an
ancient stone building with painted-over front windows.  An old, shaky
sign above the high door proclaimed:

	     Goodenough & Sons, Limited

	     Goodenough for Milady

	     Corporal Regimen Our Specialty

	     We Work to Custom Measurements

   

   Liz had seen enough.

   "Look, son, I'll do anything you want in the bedroom, I guess.  I-
I-I find it impossible to resist. I became your 'plaything,' as your
father calls it, last night. But this has the look of something far
beyond what either of us are ready for. Please, let's go back to town
and check in to our hotel." She lifted herself out of her seat and
rubbed her sore buttocks suggestively. "You can spank me for not
wanting to go into this place." Her expression became a pleading
half-smile.

   "You don't have any trust in me at all, do you, Ma? When Don Bonds
told me about this place I got nervous, too. But he assured me that he
knows the woman who runs it and she is very nice. So we could just
buy, well, we could just buy the enema kit you need so bad and go if
we wanted. Spanking? Thank you VERY much for giving me your
permission. You're getting more than a spanking later. My hand gets
sore after a while, though, so lets go in and pick out a nice paddle
or something to whack your fat ass with as long as we're here."

   With that, he grabbed her arm and she allowed herself to be marched
her up to the door, nervous but relieved that Jim had some knowledge
of the frightening establishment. The door was obviously locked, but
had a door-bell next to it and a sign with the unsurprising message:
"PLEASE RING."

   As Liz tried to mumble apologies for her unsuccessful rebellion,
Jim rang the bell. He muttered a curt "Shut-up!" to her and was
fumbling in his pocket for another piece of paper when, with a loud
click, the door opened and a young woman peered out.

   The door-guardian was a tall, blonde girl in her late teens,
dressed in the casual style of youth: she wore a gray oversized
sweat-shirt, the souvenir of some rock concert, from which emerged
black, translucent tights ending in black leather shoes with pointed
toes. The lower line of the sweat-shirt was perhaps one centimeter
below crotch level, and one sensed that the slightest upward pull by
her shoulders would give a good view as to whether any garment other
than the stretched tights covered her lower torso. Even covered by her
loose upper garment it was evident that she was well-endowed, and her
hips were nicely full, but her youth kept her figure from seeming at
all heavy. She was the archetypal healthy English country lass.

   The girl's gaze flickered from Liz to Jimmy and she shook her head.
"I'm afraid you're at the wrong place. Entry to this establishment is
limited to adults."

   Jim moved in front of his mother. "I have a note for..." Here he
fumbled for yet another slip of paper in his pocket. "For Madame
Hillary." Brandishing the paper like a magical talisman he tried to
push past the larger female, but she stood her ground.

   "Look, little boy, I said you can't come in. Now," her authority
challenged, she became defensive, choosing Liz for her next salvo, "if
you would care to return alone, I could allow you to deliver that note
for your... child, although how he came to know that name I for one
can't imagine." She turned up her nose haughtily and started to turn
back into the building, but at that moment another car pulled to a
stop behind their car. The officious girl froze.

   The car was a red Mercedes convertible with black interior and the
woman who emerged from it seemed an extension of its design.  She
moved with the grace of a sports-car, striding up the walk as if on a
fashion runway. Indeed she had the form of a model: almost 6 feet tall
with long, slender legs and an athletic torso. Her hair was vividly
black and hung stark and straight to a level just above her shoulders.
She wore a black leather vest covering what seemed to be an crimson
acrylic tube top, and her black leather miniskirt covered red mesh
hose. Finally, her black shoes had spiked heels which added about 5
inches to her lean height.

   As she approached, her sea-green eyes scanned the frozen group of
three people and held them hypnotically. She didn't hesitate, but
snatched the slip of paper held forgotten in Jimmy's hand. As she
scanned it, she spoke softly, but with a steely edge to her voice.

   "Alicia, why are these people being kept like mendicants on the
doorstep?" Without waiting for an answer, she turned to Jim. "I am
Madame Hillary, and always pleased to meet any friend of Don Bonds."
She extended her hand, which the boy was irrationally tempted to kiss,
but finally shook in what he hoped was a 'manly' manner. Without
turning from Jim (or even acknowledging Liz' presence), she raised her
voice. "Well, Alicia?"

   The girl was plainly nervous. "Please, Madame, you have a rule
about customers' ages."

   "Customers who have a message for me from one of my dearest
friends? Were you going to wait out here with them until I arrived, no
matter how long it took? Neglecting any shoppers inside?"  She was
able to see by the look Jim gave her that that had not been Alicia's
intention at all. Alicia sensed that it was a poor time to attempt to
dissemble.

   "N-n-no, Ma'am, I told them to leave. B-b-but, p-p-please, I didn't
know, I ..."

   "You need a reminder that you are merely a salesgirl. We must
humble your impudence, mustn't we?" Finally Madame Hillary turned and
looked the now terrified girl in the eye. "Mustn't we?"

   "Y-y-yes, Madame. Thank you, Madame."

   "I'm glad we agree. Now if you would be so kind as to lead us into
the showroom?"

   The blonde girl hurried to open the door and, preceding them in,
stood to the side in an obeisant posture like a frozen curtsey. Her
face was a bright crimson and her lower lip trembled. From behind Jim
and Liz, the proprietress declared: "Welcome to my little shop."

   What appeared before them was anything but a 'little shop.' The
room they entered had evidently once in its long past been a
warehouse, and stretched out about forty feet in front of them and
thirty to each side. The ceiling, painted black with recessed
lighting, was about twenty feet high. The store's wares were set on
tiered display tables, hung from racks, and modeled by very realistic
male and female mannequins. The organization of the room was subtle.
It appeared chaotic at first, but the meandering aisles, curving and
criss-crossing through the store, each seemed to direct one to
merchandise pertaining to a particular sexual proclivity. Of course,
everything for sale had some connection with the bondage-dominance-S&M
melange, but the pathways through the displays led to more and more
specific preferences and fetishes, branching and recrossing, until the
devotees came face to face with their deepest fantasies. The showroom
was nearly empty. The only other inhabitants of the large store were a
couple, who appeared to be in their twenties and were examining a
display of canes, and a distinguished looking older gentleman,
engrossed in what appeared to be a display of video tapes along the
rear wall.

   "Well, Master Mackenzie, Don writes that this delicate little woman
here is your mother and, deliciously, your sex slave." At this Liz
looked away, abruptly very conscious of her slutty attire, especially
the tiny denim miniskirt pressing lewdly against her thighs. A breath
of cool air against her sex reminded her that she lacked the security
of an undergarment. The raven-haired woman continued, "I believe your
particular dominant-submissive combination is unique among all of my
clients world-wide. I applaud you.

   "I think you will find a wealth of rudimentary equipment for her
training off to the right here. It is always, always best to start
with very basic paraphernalia. Reaching the very end of an aisle can
be the work of years." She paused for effect. The thought occurred to
both mother and son that the pathways branching out before them were
possible futures, and once they stepped onto one, they would both be
bound by its leitmotif. Liz shuddered. Madame Hillary continued.
"Notice that there is a full selection of clothing appropriate to most
specialties in the center of the showroom. For your slave's size I
believe you might need to try the Junior Misses section. There you
will find garments that are suitably short and binding for her petite
figure. The skirt she is wearing, in my opinion, needs at least one
lower size.

   "Before you start, though, you may want to see how insolent sales-
clerks are corrected in this establishment. I am thoroughly mortified
that you were treated so rudely. Alicia!!"

   Her voice rang loudly throughout the store with the name of the
employee who she knew was cringing right behind her. The other
customers turned with interest as she strode toward one of the window
display areas inside the front of the store. A quite pathetic Alicia,
wringing her hands and mumbling pleas and apologies, followed her
meekly.

   The front windows of the store were painted over carefully,
allowing no view from outside. The merchandise display platforms,
however, still exhibited items, but these were placed for the
inspection of customers inside of the store. Madame Hillary's
particular destination had but one object on its circular wooden
platform. Even Jim recognized its usage, if not its name. It was a
pillory, a wooden apparatus similar to a basketball backboard but much
shorter. It had a row of three well-padded holes cut through it
horizontally, two small ones about three feet apart and a somewhat
larger one centered exactly between them. These holes were about three
feet off the ground, perhaps less, and Jim could imagine how a tall
girl like Alicia would have to bend far over to lower her head and
hands to fit in them. His comprehension became complete when he saw
that there were devices like manacles attached to the floor a few feet
in front of the stocks and about even with the wrist holes. If these
were attached to a subject's ankles, the resulting wide leg spread
would prevent much knee bend, necessitating a deep bend at the waist
with a corresponding elevation of the hips (and, more to the point, a
prominence and spreading of the subject's ass).

   The dominating proprietress stopped in front of the platform, and,
stepping slightly aside and turning, stood regally with her long legs
slightly spread and her arms folded on her bosom. The tight leather
skirt she wore molded itself to her, producing one thought in
everyone's mind - proud master and humble slave alike - that those
buttocks and thighs were supremely crafted for adoration, for delicate
kisses bestowed by a favored, kneeling worshipper. Her eyes remained
focused on a point above the miscreant's bowed head as that humbled
young woman walked slowly by and paused at the edge of the platform.
Flicking a quick glance at her superior, she despondently climbed up
onto her punishment stage, which was perhaps eighteen inches above
floor level. She looked out to find that in addition to Liz and Jim,
the other patrons had followed the procession. She had an audience.

   "Must I --" The girl looked down at herself.

    "You must. I don't swat fabric. At the very least rid yourself of
those ridiculous tights and ugly shoes. Next time you dress that way
for work you'll work naked all day long."

   Kicking off the offensive shoes and turning away, Alicia tried
frantically to pull down the tights without exposing herself. But
there were soon witnesses to the fact that she certainly wore no other
undergarment. The skin of her legs had the pale glow of the natural
blonde, and was dotted with freckles from the summer sun.  The whiter
flashes of her buttocks showed that the sun had yet to gaze at those
smooth expanses. When she wore only the shirt, pushed down to cover
her secret regions, she peeked at Madame Hillary again for
instructions.

   "I believe you know how the device works. Confine yourself in it."

   This astonished the poor girl. She expected her mistress to place
her in constraint, shackled and bent over into the apparatus, but not
to do it herself. She didn't know if she could -- and with all these
people watching...

   "Now! Alicia." Madame Hillary's voice had a touch of irritation.
Alicia knew no stalling would be tolerated.

   She started to raise the top of the stocks, but belatedly realized
she would never be able to fasten her ankles unless she attended to
that first. Her right foot was easy. The shackle was leather with a
Velcro fastener (the medieval sheriffs would have been amazed), so she
just squatted down and pulled it around her ankle. Rising, she saw
that the second shackle would be a much greater challenge. She rose to
full height and stretched her left leg toward it. Keeping her legs
straight she bent to the side and stretched her arms down toward her
left foot. She had done the maneuver before in an exercise class, but
in that environment, when her sweatshirt rode up her body, she had a
leotard underneath. Now, the audience behind her was being given a
close-up view of her bare stretched and spread posteriors. Worse yet,
she suspected, her vulva was also peeking out for their inspection.
The entranced spectators gazed on a bottom which, because of her
youth, had no hint of a sag, no horizontal sulcal fold along its
underside. It was a perfect ass, pillow- soft yet exquisitely firm.

   After attaching her left ankle, she rose back up to a standing
position. She made a futile attempt to push the shirt back down, but
the wide angle of her hips gave it a natural resting place at their
tops. So her back side remained totally exposed from the dimple atop
the beginning of her posterior divide all the way down to her heels.

   Now she had to get in the stocks.

   Bending forward, she was able to reach the top of the pillory and
raise it. Of course the apparatus was in two parts, one above the
other, with the line of separation bisecting the holes. The top
portion swung up to the left on a hinge, and when she had lifted it
almost to the vertical, she bent further over and placed her left hand
and head into their cupped openings. Then, using her right hand, she
slowly lowered the heavy top back down, maneuvering her hand so it
slipped into its confinement as she released the entrapping board to
fall its last inch. Her complicated task done, her mind was left with
nothing to do but contemplate the extent of her open display.

   And display it was! The spread of her legs and the upward cant of
her hips exhibited the cleft between her legs and her bare, white
belly almost to her navel. For bare she was, completely shaven like a
prepubescent child. But the moist, open, pink gash of her femininity
was anything but childlike as once, twice, it pulsed with want and
fear, winking open the dark tunnel of her vagina.   Her ass cheeks
were well spread, the tight star of her more secret orifice on open
exhibition. The oversized sweat shirt hung limply, and keen eyes of
her audience, which due to the height of the platform were about on
the level of her privates, could discern the milky lower slopes of her
pendent breasts. The fact that the girl could see none of her own body
below the neck added to the five observers' excitement at her naked
helplessness.

   Madame Hillary approached the stage, now holding an evil-looking
object in her left hand. She swung her leg up onto the platform,
causing her tight skirt to rise briefly up over the tops of her
stockings and exposing the straps of a red garter belt and some creamy
thigh-flesh. She quickly stepped up and, her right hand resting lazily
on a bare ass-cheek of her clerk, she addressed her patrons.

   "Gentlemen and slaves," her gaze caught and held the eyes in turn
of the two females in the audience, "my fat-assed salesclerk, here,
has asked me to punish her for rude and boorish conduct.  Isn't that
correct, Alicia?"

   From behind the screen of the stocks came a soft, whimpery voice.
"Yes, Madame. T-t-thank you, Madame."

   "Whenever we at Goodenough and Sons are forced to discipline the
staff, we attempt to make the occasion an educational experience for
our clientele. So today I will demonstrate an advanced punishment
tool. The split strap, or, as some would have it, the tawse.

   "First, a word about nomenclature. Unfortunately, there is no
international committee of standards for the enthusiasts of the lash,"
here, the distinguished older gentleman chuckled softly from behind
the other onlookers, "so, especially in our literature, terminology is
often confused. I believe that I am correct in calling this instrument
a tawse, but if you have been told by other authorities differently,
that certainly is no stain to their credentials or to mine."

   The instrument she held in front of her was close to three feet
long. It had a tooled leather-covered handle which broadened out to a
strap about four inches wide. About halfway out along its length it
was split into three parts, or tails. The leather was not thick, but
fairly stiff, and had been stitched along all its edges. It was smooth
and polished on both sides so that it glowed with a rich mahogany
finish.

   "If I were to rate the various instruments of gluteal discipline in
terms of difficulty of use, I would probably place this type of tawse
as requiring more expertise than even the Balacca cane.  Attend."

   She strode to her right. When she reached that side of the
platform, with a suddenness that startled them all she slammed the
tawse against the wall. The force of the blow was seemingly beyond her
lean stature. The old wall - of solid plaster rather than the modern
wallboard - became cracked and chipped over an oval region more than a
foot long and six inches in height. A sizable chunk of hard plaster
hesitated, then fell to the floor, shattering.

   "Now that was rigid plaster. I'm sure you can visualize what this
instrument could do to the soft flesh of a fundament." She walked back
to Alicia's split moon and slapped the tawse across it playfully.
"Barring extraordinary circumstances, I believe we would like to keep
our slaves in better condition than that: if only to keep them from
permanent disability. So one must not use a tawse as one would use a
flogger or cat. Allow me to demonstrate a proper, severe stroke on
Alicia. Alicia! Show your training. Now."

   Still holding the tawse in her right hand, she assumed a wide-
legged stance to the naked girl's left and, with what seemed to be the
full force of her arm and body, delivered a resounding blow to the
right buttock. The rifle-shot crraacckk of the tawse against the soft
skin caused everyone, with the possible exception of the older
gentleman, to gasp and flinch. The marks showed the ends of the strap
had whipped around to the girl's flank.

   From the back of the pillory came an agonized muffled cry, followed
almost immediately by a high-pitched, rapid-fire recitation.
"Thank-you-Madame-that-was-a-splendid-hit."

   Madame Hillary chuckled. "We must work on your elocutionary skills,
Alicia. Slowly, my dear. Or should I add ten or fifteen extras so you
may practice?"

   "Oh, please, no, Madame. Thank you, Madame."

   "Well. If we may return to my demonstration. You will all note that
the stroke against the wall and that against this rump appeared very
similar. The results, though, are very different.  Alicia will have
very little bruising, and most of that at the surface level. The
secret lies in stopping one's arm at the instant that the ends of the
tawse first come into contact with the surface of the buttock.
Remember the childhood game 'crack the whip'? The name tells all. The
supple leather will continue into the cheek, stinging, oh so sharply
stinging, much more than one who has not experienced it could ever
imagine. Obviously, this instrument takes practice. If one stops
early, the limp leather swishes feebly against the skin. However,
strokes can be repeated but never taken back, so I recommend erring on
the side of caution.

   "One other skill is necessary for proper use of the tawse. Note
that for evenness of coverage and pain, one must hit from both sides."
Moving to Alicia's right, she changed hands. "I have been blessed with
ambidextrousness." With startling speed, the strap whipped back and
through. It snapped as loudly as the first lash, leaving a triple
stripe around the girl's left buttock and hip exactly even and the
same length as the one still visible on the right.

   A startled yip, then "Thank you, Madame. Your aim was perfect."
Alicia's speech was slow and measured, but her voice had tears in it.

   "Bye the bye, Alicia must comment on each blow individually.
Repetition is discouraged. But to return to the problem, many people
have far less strength and agility in their 'off' arm." She returned
the tawse to her right hand. "So a backhand blow is required." She
paused, directing their attention with her eyes to her salesgirl's
rear crack. The girl was clearly expecting the backhand blow any
second, and the muscles of her ass were tightening spasmodically,
especially around her anus.

   "Actually, most people find this swing easier than the forehand.
The eye can sight down the straightening arm and stop the swing quite
precisely. Alicia! Relax and present!"

   The clenching stopped immediately. Alicia's legs straightened and
her back dipped to elevate and push out her reddened backside.  Madame
Hillary waited a moment, then zipped the hard leather into the waiting
rump. The three strips bridged the two cheeks perfectly, connecting
the first two sets of marks to make an artistic whole.

   A mournful "Thank you, Madame. A mere three strokes have never
given me such pain." was nearly drowned out as Jim, then the two men,
began applauding. The man in his twenties shouted "Encore!"

   "Thank you." The woman almost, but not quite, smiled. "However,
more than an encore is required. Alicia's behavior has earned her a
'sixer', and, of course, this preliminary show cannot be considered
part of the punishment. I'm sorry, dear, but as part of the sixer I
feel I must demonstrate blows to the upper thighs and what is known to
the trade as 'whipping in'."

   Alicia let out a long low moan, her hips moving back and forth as
if crying 'No'.  Jim slid a hand up his mother's bare leg, under her
abbreviated skirt and onto her soft, naked buttocks. Liz squirmed
briefly, knowing that at least one of the other spectators had a clear
view of her son's action, but finally surrendered to his mastery (and
to her arousal at the tableau so close in front of her).

   Madame Hillary pointed to a dial on the wall. "Sir William, if you
would be so good as to start the rotation of the platform?" The
gentleman moved from behind Liz, where he had evidently been enjoying
Jim's fondling of the partially revealed bottom-cheeks, and moved to
the dial. He turned it about 90 degrees. The platform began to rotate
at a speed which would bring it completely back around in about one
minute. As Alicia came into view, eyes red from tears, her employer
gave her instructions. "You will deliver your expressions of gratitude
and appreciation while you are facing our clients, and with head up
and eyes forward. Your correction will be administered when your rear
anatomy is on display to them."

   The round stage continued its revolution. When it had returned to
its initial position, with a grand flourish the tawse was twirled in
the air, then slaaappped into Alicia's left thigh, just below the line
of her buttock. A shrill shriek, then silence, until the rotation had
proceeded a half turn. In due course Alicia faced her rapt audience:
"Thank you, Madame. My thigh burns with an awful fire."

   Another pause. Crrraaacck. This time the strap wrapped around the
right thigh. Liz and Jim noticed a sheen of feminine moisture on the
girl's open vulva. Pause. A blurry-eyed pale face. "Thank you, Madame.
You have never before hit so well, so fiercely."

   Halfway around. Lower left buttock.

   Halfway around. "Thank you... "

   Turn. Lower right buttock.

   The rotation continued inexorably. "Thank..."

   Turn. The fifth stroke was from the right side, whipped in! The
crimson marks of the strap ends showed straight down the open valley
between the cheeks from above the asshole, over it, then down through
the perineum stopping just short of the cunt-slit. A scream erupted
and continued while the stage turned. Finally, the observers were
treated to a vision of Alicia truly terrified. As she mouthed her
words, they knew she was contemplating the final blow. Would it be as
bad as that one, or, perhaps, even horribly worse if it sliced in
slightly lower and cut into her labia, forced open and vulnerable by
her forced posture, so that it tore at the delicate flesh between
them.

   Finally her rump again faced the audience, and, from the left side
came a zinging stroke that looked like it ended low and between. A
scream, a moan, then silence. Finally, as Alicia faced the audience
again: "Thank you, Madame." She paused. "B-b-but I'm afraid that
stroke d-d-didn't whip in c-c-completely. If that was your intent,
Madame, I b-b-beg you to r-r-repeat it."  Her eyes flooded with tears.

   "Alicia must be sincere in her comments during a whipping." Madame
Hillary patted the poor girl's carmine rump. "She never knows if a
mis-stroke was accidental or purposeful. Yes, my poor girl, I will
have to try that stroke again. I meant to whip in low INTO YOUR
PRETTY, SHAVED PUSSY!"

   At that moment, the salesclerk's ass pointed directly at the
gathered customers and Madame Hillary struck. The sharp stroke was
low, it was hard, and it whipped in perfectly. As the tawse was pulled
back a fiery red line glowed from anus to clitoris. The girl's knees
buckled completely and she screamed! As the beaten backside moved away
from their view, they could see it jerking up and down and from right
to left as if a fire burned hotly on its surface. The screaming
continued until the instant she faced her audience. Her eyes remained
squeezed shut . Then with a visible effort, she opened her eyes,
gulped down her scream, and, in a wavering, trembly voice, recited.

   "Thank you, Madame. You have never whipped me that intensely
before. I can only offer a fervent prayer that you never will again."

   The man Madame Hillary had called 'Sir William' turned the dial
back and the rotation of the patform ceased.

   "Unfortunately, my sweet, your continual lapses from proper
behavior will probably necessitate more of the same. I would imagine,
however, that our clientele would like to examine more closely the
vestiges of your punishment, and perhaps practice with the tawse, or,
if they do not feel they have the expertise, with perhaps a flogger on
your openly available posterior region. You would not mind a bit of
tactile examination of your person, would you?" The humbled, blushing
girl could only shake her head in acquiescence to this further
indignity. "And if they swat your red ass a few times, you'll be
polite and thank them, won't you?" This time a reluctant nod.

   The proprietress stepped down nimbly from the platform and
manipulated the dial to rotate the stage 180 degrees and place
Alicia's backside to the forefront. Sir William immediately stepped up
and, kneeling behind the girl, placed his hand on her right ankle and
gently began stroking up her leg. The other, younger man pointed
toward the floor in front of his pretty companion and said: "Kneel."
She immediately complied, sitting back on her heels with her hands
resting, palm up, on her spread thighs. Her cheeks flamed under her
bowed head. Without looking to make sure she had obeyed, her apparent
master grabbed a rope flogger from a nearby display table and got up
onto the platform.

   "Madame Hillary, what safeword or signal shall I watch for?" The
man twirled the flogger as he looked back.

   "Safeword? Alicia, do you have a safeword?" Madame Hillary looked
amused.

   "Oh no, Madame." The words were emphatic from behind the pillory.

   "Why not, young lady?" The dominatrix was almost laughing now.

   "Well, I guess at least two reasons, Madame. First, you wouldn't
allow it. And second, if I had a safeword I'd use it. In fact I
would've used it two or three times during this punishment. My
privates still feel like they're bleeding."

   "Sir William, since you are examining so closely, are they
bleeding?"

   "Not at all, Hillary. Nasty abrasions, but no real blood flow." As
he spoke he ran his fingers along, then between the puffy labia spread
open just inches from his nose. "I believe she's feeling her juices
dripping."

   "Well, there's reassurance for you, Alicia dear. Now tell Mr., umm,
Fondor, I believe it is, why you don't want a safeword to avoid those
abrasions."

   "Well, sir, I'm a slave. It's as simple as that. Madame Hillary
doesn't play these childish games with 'safewords' and 'scenes' and
things. We sell those people equipment, and laugh at them when they
leave the store. But although many's the time I wish I wasn't, I'm a
slave. A slave can't call time-out like in kiddy play. If I've
offended by saying this, I apologize, but I was asked."

   Mr. Fondor slowly smiled. He turned to his kneeling companion.  "Is
that why you never used the safeword I gave you, Jane?"

   The woman did not look up. "Yes, Peter. I'm your slave." Her back
seemed to straighten with pride as she spoke.

   "Well, it appears the dais will be crowded for a while." Madame
Hillary turned to Jim, who still very obviously had his hand buried
under the back of his mother's skirt. "Master Mackenzie. The stage
seems crowded at this time, so if you would like, I can help you
assemble the essentials for the training of your mother. Afterward,
I'm sure Alicia will be pleased to allow you either a public or
private interview, since it was you she insulted. I say, Mrs.
Mackenzie, it appears you are enjoying your son's attentions." Madame
Hillary approached and ran a long fingernail across a hard nipple
poking out under Liz' thin top.

   Liz jumped suddenly from something Jim did behind her. "Answer our
Hostess, Mom!"

   "Yes. Yes, Ma'am." Another slight start. Liz kept her eyes down
with embarrassment. "Yes. Ma'am, I am enjoying my son stroking and
squeezing my... my ass."

   "Mmmm. What a delectable slut, Jim. Do you mind if I call you Jim?
You may certainly call me Hillary, after all I'm just the shopkeeper
here. Jim, let's find you some things that will really put your
whorish mommy through her paces."

      6.    The Merchantess of Bath  II

   Liz MacKenzie felt relieved to be temporarily ignored. She needed
to take ten deep breaths and sort out the overload of sensory stimuli.
Her ass and crotch were still tingling with the effects of Jimmy's
pawing and pinching. Behind her, on that display platform, she could
hear the sharp slaps of the rope flogger on bruised flesh, and the
moans and forced "Thank You's" from the pretty clerk, Alicia. All
around her were straps, harnesses, blindfolds, gags, and the other
paraphernalia of bondage. Jim and Madame Hillary were a few feet in
front of her, the latter holding her son's rapt attention with a
monologue on the relative merits of various devices for the binding
and immobilizing of his sex slave.  The slave she referred to was, of
course, his sluttishly dressed, totally ignored mother: Liz herself.

   Well, she thought, I guess the boy was right to be firm when I
didn't want to come in. This is just a store, if an unusual one.  She
turned her head and looked toward the pillory. Alicia's plump,
formerly white bottom shone pink with fierce, deep red stripes. Sir
William was swinging the flogger underhanded, snapping it upwards into
her exposed belly and shaved mons. The prescribed expressions of
'gratitude' had ceased. The tormented girl now merely alternated
frantic yips of pain with moans which were perhaps of a completely
different nature. Her sweatshirt had been pushed forward to her neck
and the man called Mr. Fondor was doing something to her nipples,
something that clearly Alicia did not relish.

   Liz' mind veered off into wry pathways. No store in the States
could last long with naked employees being fondled and whipped by
customers. On the other hand, hadn't she brought Jimmy over here to
expose him to a different culture? So far, though, she had done all
the exposing -- of her body. Now Jim was buying toys: toys for his
enjoyment and her pain and humiliation.

   She relived the last few minutes.

      -----------

   Just after the punishment 'demonstration' ended, Madame Hillary
- the Dragon Lady, Liz had mentally named her - led Jim and herself to
  a display of enema equipment. She selected a prepackaged kit and,
opening it, showed it to Liz and her son. The first things, no, the
only things, Liz could focus on in the box were the nozzles. There
were three of them. The narrowest was about an inch in diameter and
four inches long - bigger than anything she had ever seen on
'conventional' equipment. The next was about the size of Jim's
formidable erect penis, and the third! Maybe, just maybe, Don Bonds'
sexual cudgel could rival it, but not in width, and this was for her
anus!

   All Liz could say was: "No. Never. I would be injured."

   The Dragon Lady had looked a little startled. "You've had enemas
from childhood, have you not?"

   Liz reluctantly nodded.

   "You certainly don't expect me to believe your Master or Masters
haven't sodomized you?" Liz tried to look away but the dominatrix held
her eye. She finally took a deep breath: "I have been compelled to
accept anal intercourse by past M-M-Masters."

   Hillary turned to Jim, "This means your mum has been fucked up her
asshole," Jim's eyes widened, "so I cannot help but believe she is
trying to deceive us concerning the capacity of her rectum, probably
in a futile attempt to escape a small measure of discomfort. Master
MacKenzie, I would like your permission to examine your supposedly
tight-assed mother."

   "Sure." Jim's face lit up with an expectant grin. "Lizzy-Butt, be a
good little girl for the nice lady."

   "Mrs., um, did your son call you 'Lizzy-Butt'? Well, then,
Lizzy-Butt, turn yourself around and bend over that counter!" Liz
hesitated. She knew what was coming and was trying to get up the nerve
to just walk out of the store.

   "Mom, I told Hillary you would obey her. I guess, if you'd rather,
we could go up to that stage and you could take the clerk's place in
the stocks. Then Hillary could examine you all she wanted and probably
those men would want to, too."

   Liz knew Jimmy was understandingly proud to be showing off his new
mastery of her to someone appreciative, so argument or pleading would
probably make this intolerable situation worse. Numbly, she abjectly
turned and, keeping her legs straight, bent over the display counter.
Since the counter was lower than her waist, her back naturally arched.
This pushed her entire Venus mound up from under the flare of her
too-short skirt and into view under the swell of her ass-cheeks. Her
hands flew back to pull her skirt back over her.

   "Thank you, Master MacKenzie." The Dragon Lady laid her hand on
Liz' back as she spoke. "Now, since your hands are already holding
your cute little skirt, would you pull it up to your waist? I can
assure you that, given your present posture, it is not hiding many of
your dripping-wet secrets anyway."

   Liz blushed at the reference to her sexual secretions. She wished
that she could at least remain passive to all this. She had to endure
their torments, but why must they insist that she participate in her
own humiliation? Finally she complied, tugging up the skirt, feeling
the cold counter-top under her belly. The first tickle of cold air on
her exposed labia sent an erotic shiver up her spine.

   "Your mother does have a spectacularly youthful ass, Master
MacKenzie. I wish Sir William weren't so intrigued with Alicia's
helplessness. He would be quite entranced by this lovely bottom." She
glanced back at the spectacle on the platform, then seemed to recall
her current task. "Very good, Lizzy-Butt. Now one last thing: We need
to explore your dirty little anus, you know. So please spread your
legs wider. No, wider still. Now reach back and pull those butt cheeks
apart."

   "What? Oh, please..." Liz looked back in supplication.

   Jim interrupted. "Mother, I'm going to count three. If you aren't
obeying..."

   Liz heard the steel in her young son's voice. She quickly pulled
her cheeks apart until she could feel her anal sphincter stretch.

   "Hmmm. It does look fairly tight." The sleek dominatrix raised her
index finger, displaying its long scarlet nail. She sucked it into her
mouth, wetting it, then placed it against Jim's mother's exposed anus.
"Now relax and push out, Lizzy-Butt."

   The finger slowly wormed its way in, then moved in a circular
fashion, attempting to expand the opening.

   "I declare, she's a tight one! I can tell she's obeying and trying
to relax the muscle. Periodically it spasms tight with affection for
my finger. This is one of your principal erogenous zones, isn't it,
Lizzy-Butt?"

   Liz, who was trying mightily to prevent her hips from undulating in
erotic response to the invading digit, could only nod her head in
mute, shameful assent.

   Madame Hillary added a second finger and pressed both in up to
their second knuckle. Liz' anus was obviously resisting tremendously,
its puckered dark flesh almost disappearing into her body. "My God,
the woman's as tight as Alicia was at fifteen.  Master MacKenzie, your
mother's a treasure. Most slaves, male and female, end up with an
asshole as large as their mouth and need to wear diapers in their
later years. Lizzy-Butt clearly has an in credible sphincter. And she
loves anal games! Watch.

   "Lizzy, I'll give you a choice. I'll either pull my fingers out and
allow you to make yourself presentable before those wolves on the
platform notice you, or I'll rape your ass with my fingers, fucking
them in and out of your asshole until you cum, screaming with
pleasure. Well, what's your preference?"

   Liz clenched her hands into fists, digging her fingernails into her
palms. She had gone without these encompassing pleasure-pain
sensations for too long. She wanted to yell "Finger-fuck my ass!  Fuck
it hard!" but she was in public and her young son was looking on. She
forced herself to be silent, but her hips wriggled mutely in sensual
circles. Maybe this damned Dragon Lady would finger-fuck her ass
anyway, as a punishment for not answering.

   Madame Hillary, however, just laughed heartily. "Master MacKenzie,
you'd think a mature woman like your mum would be thankful to be able
to stop this humiliation. But no, she wants to be degraded. So, as
responsive Dominants, we'll deny her the pleasure." She yanked her
fingers out of the pulsing anus, scraping her nails against the
delicate inner flesh as she did so. Liz yelped.

   "I'll have to admit, Jim, she's probably right. 'Richard the
Lion-sized' here," she hefted the largest dildo-shaped nozzle, "would
probably ruin her wonderful tightness. I know what, I'll substitute a
nice long butt plug for this dildo/nozzle. It's a necessary
accouterment, anyway, and the price will be the same. You see, a good
enema technique is to overfill her with the fluid of the day, then pop
out the enema nozzle and ram home the plug. That holds all the liquid
in for as long as you want. Makes the bloated victim cramp from time
to time, but that's just a nice bonus, right?"

   Jimmy nodded, his imagination soaring. "How long can I leave it
in?"

   "That, of course, depends on her training." She slapped Liz on the
butt, "Lizzy-Butt, you can stand up now, and whether you leave your
skirt up is your choice." Liz stood quickly and smoothed her skirt
down in front and behind. Madame Hillary continued , "Jim, I have
filled Alicia till she looked pregnant, then taken her to a symphony
concert to hear Beethoven's Fifth. Tears were rolling down her cheeks
while the last two movements were played by the orchestra, but HER
movement when we arrived home was even more spectacular."

   The Dragon Lady moved down the aisle with Jimmy in tow. "Let me
show you some restraint devices. You will find it ever so convenient
to make your slave completely available and, at the same time,
completely immobile and helpless."

      ------------

   This brought Liz back to the present. Both Jim's and Madame
Hillary's arms were now filled with restraint equipment. Finally, the
Dragon Lady turned and, raising her voice, called out: "Gentlemen.
Time. I regret to inform you that Alicia's punishment demonstration
must come to an end. I need her to perform her more prosaic clerical
duties. If you would release her from the stocks, please."

   Some good-natured groans (and a feminine sigh of relief) met this
announcement. Alicia was released and steadied as she straightened up.
She was bending for her clothing when she heard: "Just that shirt that
you have on, Alicia dear. Hurry, I need you."

   When Alicia came over, the proprietress filled her arms with the
selected merchandise. She was sent to the front counter to start
totaling the prices. Madame Hillary spoke to Jim while eyeing Liz up
and down. "The last recommendation I have is for clothing to really
show off your mum's best features. I always get confused about sizes
in the States, but I'll just guess that to get something of sufficient
tightness, we'll have to look in our adolescent department. It makes
sense, doesn't it, Lizzy-Butt, that if you are the sex slave of a
thirteen year old, you should dress like a thirteen year old?"

   Liz flushed. She knew she was petite, but also knew that she
couldn't possibly fit into the outfits for girls with hips as slim as
boys - girls who wore training bras but had very little to train.

   "I asked you a question!" The fiery Dominant turned to Jim. "Is
your mother always this rude?"

   "I'm sorry, Madame. Yes, since I am my thirteen year old son's
slave, I should dress to that age."

   "Since you were so reticent, I think you should repeat that much
louder. Don't you think so, Jim?"

   "Yeah. Mom, the whole store better hear you, and not just 'slave.'
make it 'sex slave.'"

   Liz took a deep breath and raised her voice until she felt even
people outside in the street would hear. "I am my thirteen year old
son's sex slave! I need to dress like a slutty thirteen year old!" The
words rang off the walls, and she was forever shamed as everyone
turned to gape at her. But deeper down she felt a wave of relief, of
contentment, that she had announced her perversity to the world, that
it was no longer an ugly secret she couldn't even admit to herself.
Places like this have more than one purpose.

   Head down but with posture erect, she followed her son and the
Dragon Lady to the women's clothing section and the one small section
of it devoted to adolescent styles. In a way she was relieved to be in
that particular section. The adult section was heavily
fetish-oriented: every outfit there identified the wearer as being
involved with some sexual deviation. There were slave outfits, leather
and acrylic wear, and dominatrix gear, all of it, seemingly, meant to
be accompanied by six-inch heels. She couldn't imagine touring
cathedrals in that clothing. The teen section, on the other hand,
included every imaginable sexy style worn by pubescent girls through
the years. But they were styles familiar to the public eye. There were
English public school uniforms, sixties' halter tops and cutoffs, tube
tops, and of course every variety of revealing skirt and dress. Some
were slit up the sides, some extremely tight...

   "How about this?" Jim was holding up a skirt that looked as if it
were made for a nine year old. The waist wasn't more than 18 inches,
and it couldn't have been more than 9 inches from waist down to hem.

   "Oh, dear, Jimmy, no. It's much too..."

   "What." He said it softly - like his grandfather, she realized.

   "I mean 'Jim.' I'm sorry I..." Again her son interrupted.

   "I don't think this qualifies as being in public, does it? Try one
more time."

   "Umm, 'Lord', I was wrong to call you those other names. I forgot."

   "Has Lizzy-Butt been a naughty little girl?" Jim's recitation of
what was evidently a mantra provoked an evil smile to form on
Hillary's mouth.

   Liz looked around quickly. She had always dreaded someone would
overhear this. "Yes, Lord, Lizzy-Butt has been naughty."

   "What happens to Lizzy-Butt when she's naughty?"

   Was he going to spank her right here? No, she couldn't take that.
Having that Dragon Lady's fingers up her butt (and getting turned on
in spite of herself) was as much sexual torment as she could stand.
Unfortunately her training made her answer automatically. "Lizzy-Butt
gets a spanking."

   "Yes, a bare-assed spanking. I wonder if we should go up on the
platform where Alicia was..." Madame Hillary leaned toward him and
whispered in his ear for several minutes. "Ah, yes. Perhaps we can
delay your spanking until we get to our hotel room. Would you like
that?"

   "Oh, yes, Lord, very much." She couldn't contain her relief, even
though she found herself behaving like a fawning idiot.

   "Then you'll do what I say? You see I have a small penalty for you
for now."

   Liz suddenly realized that she was being led along toward some
humiliation dreamt up by the Dragon Lady, but she was trapped.  "Yes,
my Lord."

   "Then since you have behaved so badly, get down on your hands and
knees and crawl for a while. It will help you remember that I'm not
your little 'Jimmy' any more."

   Liz half turned toward the door, then realized that she couldn't
walk out on her son -- her... Master. She was his -- even if she
didn't want to be at times. She turned back to face him and closing
her eyes in humiliation, dropped to her knees and bent forward onto
her hands. Her loose bodice hung down, exposing the upper half of her
breasts down to the bare nipples protruding above her half-bra in
front. Worse, she could feel the stiff micro-miniskirt stretch
horizontally out behind her, exposing her shaved, swollen labia.  She
looked back over her shoulder to see the man called Sir William
squatting and staring down the aisle - and not at her face.

   "I believe you were going to complain about your 'LORD'S' choice of
skirt." Madame Hillary took the tiny piece of cloth from Jim as she
spoke. "Well, like every stupid slave, you were wrong - and insulting
- about that, too. First, this tight waist will be perfect, once we
  get one of these on you." She leaned across to a lingerie counter
and held up a waist cincher: a corset which only extended from the
bottom of the ribcage down to the upper hips (about at the level of
the end of the tailbone in back). It had leather lacings in a panel in
front which obviously would forcibly assist a woman's torso to conform
to its waspish shape.

   "Second, the darling brevity of this skirt will be delicious, as
long as you stand VERY straight. If decorum is absolutely necessary, I
would suggest some panty-hose underneath (nude to the waist, of
course), so people will not be SURE they're getting flashes of your
pretty slit. For less formal activities - your average touristy
occasions, for instance - I think I have here the perfect accessory."
Again she reached to the lingerie display and selected a pair of
filmy-transparent, nude colored panty hose, but with a difference.
These had a significant amount of the crotch, fore and aft, cut out.
The resulting gap was hemmed and heavily stitched to prevent sagging.
It was clear that from the top of the Venus mound in front, down
between the legs to the back , and up to the top of the buttocks cleft
behind, the cut-out would completely expose the wearer. "Won't this be
fun to wear, Lizzy-Butt?"

   Liz had been staring up incredulously at the insane clothing this
woman suggested that she could wear... in public! But at that final
question, she could only look down at the floor and nod in the
affirmative, as required.

   "By the way, in a few moments you'll be able to try on these
things, and, I would hope, some others as well. I certainly wouldn't
let you buy them based just on my opinion of their fit.

   "Now," Hillary continued, "I must get Alicia over here." She stood
on tiptoes trying to locate her employee.

   "I have an idea," Jim spoke up. "Since my slave, here, seems to
only get in the way here (and gets herself into trouble), I could have
her crawl around the store to find Alicia and tell her you need her."

   "Why thank you, Master MacKenzie." the Dominatrix looked down at
the woman on all fours. "I believe she is probably near the front
counter down that aisle." She grabbed a handful of Liz' hair and
turned her head in the direction she meant. "Your Master and I will
select the rest of your new wardrobe."

   "NNNNnnnnnnn..." Liz' voice rang out loudly, then lowered to a
pleading whine and never reached the 'O'. Mentally defeated and
thoroughly humbled, her only thought was that perhaps she had stifled
her insolence in time to avoid further abasement and punishment. She
began her long crawl down the aisle on the tiled floor. She heard
Jim's snigger at the jiggle of her exposed ass-cheeks as she moved.

   All of the customers seemed to have taken positions between her and
her goal. Sir William just stared as she passed, but was openly
rubbing his bulging crotch. The Fondor couple were next. Jane stepped
aside sympathetically, but the dominant, Peter, stood in the center of
the aisle with his legs spread wide. Liz knew that if she caused a
scene she would probably just make it worse, so she crawled between
his legs as fast as she could. Unfortunately this was not quite fast
enough to avoid the sharp slap he gave to each of her bare buttocks on
her way through. Finally she saw Alicia, who was surprised but clearly
amused at the sight of the humbled customer approaching her. Liz had
been trying to decide how to treat the girl who was the clerk and
slave of the establishment.  She finally decided aloof superiority
would be rather ludicrous while one is on one's hands and knees and
lewdly exposed.

   "Excuse me, Alicia, but the Dra... - Madame Hillary - needs you in
the Adolescents' Clothing section."

   "And you were sent to fetch me?" Alicia came closer. "And you did
it? On your hands and knees, showing everyone your slutty choice of
brassiere? And no knickers either? Oh, Lovely! By the way, I can see
that your nipples are swollen and dark like juicy grapes! This kind of
treatment must agree with you even more than it agrees with me." She
giggled.

   Liz had thought that she was all blushed out after everything that
had happened in the last half hour, but this caused her to redden
again. She looked down and away, avoiding Alicia's eyes, but after a
slow minute had passed, realized that the slave-clerk required a
response.

   "Yyyyeeesss," she squeaked softly, answering all the questions and
observations at once.

   "I'll bet that if I licked your clit twice you'd climax with a
scream, but my Mistress is waiting and I don't have permission.  Come
on!"

   Alicia strode away briskly. Liz, who was trying to shake off her
shameless imagining of the delights of Alicia's flicking tongue, was
forced to scramble along. She was crawling behind the clerk's red,
punished undercheeks which, from Liz' angle, were completely visible
under the sweatshirt. The slap-thump-slap-thump of Liz' hands and
knees hitting the tiled floor caused laughter and mocking sound
effects from the male customers, who were now trailing behind the two
girls. Finally she and Alicia reached her son and the Dragon Lady.
(She would have to be more careful. She had almost used her secret
name for Madame Hillary aloud to Alicia.)

   "Alicia, take these." In the few minutes that Liz had been gone, it
seemed Jim and Hillary had picked out quite a pile of clothes.  "I
have consulted with Master MacKenzie and it has been decided the slave
crawling behind you will use the regular slave's dressing area for
fitting. Escort her there and be ready to assist her in dressing in
these items. We will meet you there momentarily. I have neglected to
show my customer our paddles and floggers, and he will certainly need
them... Oh, and Ms. MacKenzie, you may rise to your feet while in the
dressing area. It certainly WOULD be impossible to get into that
delightful skirt your son chose while in your present posture."

   Alicia wiggled her finger at Liz, then walked off down a side
aisle. Not far along it, on the right, was a small platform about
eight feet square and raised about eighteen inches above floor level.
Liz could not suppress a groan when she noted the clothes tree in one
corner and complete openness on all sides. It was just high enough so
that someone standing on it would be visible throughout the store. Her
groan changed to an audible "Oh God, noooo!" when Sir William walked
up and, winking at her, took his seat in one of the comfortable chairs
ringing this dais.

   "Up you go, girl." Alicia bent and gave Liz a light slap on her
behind. The slaps continued and became firmer until she reluctantly
crawled the last few feet and clambered up onto the platform. She got
to her feet and gazed out over the large showroom.

   Yes, showroom, she thought, and she was the next show!

   The Fondors came by next. They were obviously unfamiliar with this
area of the store but caught on quickly. Peter took a seat and
directed Jane to a kneeling position on the floor by his side. Liz was
forced to stand stiffly, the focus of attention, for several long
minutes until finally Jim and the Proprietress strolled up.

   Liz spoke in a trembling voice. "Lord, may I speak with you,
please?"

   Jim came forward to the dais, and Liz squatted down to whisper in
his ear: "I'm really afraid I'm not ready for this, son. We don't know
these people. I don't mind coming back when the store's empty. Then
you and that woman... well, I'll try to be obedient.  But, please!"

   Her son looked at her quizzically and whispered back, "Mom, I've
had a hard-on since I came into the store, and your nipples seem to
just get bigger and bigger. Should I check to see if you're wet?" Liz
looked down and shook her head. "Well, is your cunt wet?" Liz didn't
look up, she just nodded. "And you're going out of your way to flash
Mr. Fondor, the way you're squatting."

   Liz realized that she had faced directly at that man when she
squatted down with her legs splayed widely apart. The micro-miniskirt
was almost to her waist in front. Worse, she could feel that her labia
had opened due to the spread of her thighs, so Peter Fondor was
getting an almost gynecological view of her feminine core.

   "Hold still." Jim put a hand on her knee as she tried to close her
legs. "You've had to bend or squat a half dozen times today and you've
always found a way to keep your legs together and your skirt covering
your butt and pussy. This was no accident. So smile at the man and
give him a wink."

   Blushing scarlet, she whined something unintelligible, then obeyed
her son's command. She was startled at the sexual rush she felt when
Fondor grinned and spread his legs in his chair, displaying a huge
bulge in his crotch.

   "So, it seems you ARE ready for this. That's another little fault
you'll pay for when we get to our hotel room. Now if you follow
instructions perfectly and model all the clothes, I promise I won't
try out the ropes and paddles and dildos while all these people are
watching. OK?"

   Liz looked at her beautiful, imperious son. She'd known before she
asked that if he forced her, she'd go through with it. So she stood
back up, the mixture of emotions and sensations almost overwhelming.
She had a sudden, almost overpowering urge to finger her tingling
pussy right here on the stage in front of everyone.  The fire in her
loins was so intense that she could scarcely stand it, and she knew it
would get worse as she undressed and dressed for her son, and for this
audience.

   "Well, if that little confab is finished, why don't we start with a
few tops." Madame Hillary held out several items of clothing to Liz.
"You can hang your blouse and cute little bra on that tree, there."

   Liz took the clothes, but Alicia stepped up onto the dais at that
point to hold them for her. Liz began shaking visibly as she slowly
pulled the chiffon top up over her head. When it came off her nipples
started to actually hurt in their swollen hardness. She hung the top
as best she could on the clothes tree, and, taking a deep breath,
reached behind her and unhooked the bra. Liz unconsciously closed her
eyes as the bra slid down her arms. Her breasts had already become
essentially exposed because of the nature of the bra, but having no
covering down to her waist unnerved her, frightened her, excited her.

   When she was finally able to reopen her eyes, two male English
strangers were staring at her naked tits and unselfconsciously rubbing
their crotches; Jimmy and the Dragon Lady both had looks of triumphant
lust; and the two submissive females appeared sympathetic, but a
little jealous. She put the bra with her blouse, while her freed
breasts jiggled with the motion.

   For the next ten minutes she modelled a silk top whose loose
vee-neck opened to her waist, then an abbreviated halter which showed
the undersides of her milky-white breasts, then a tube-top of a very
elastic material that molded to her breasts like a layer of paint,
and, finally, the audience's favorite, a long rectangle of material
with a hole in the middle for her head. This last was made of a stiff
cotton fabric, and was worn as a sort of double bib, covering her
front and back almost to the waist, but with no sides. Actually on
each side there were two 'optional' woven strings that could be
attached to the front and back, ostensibly holding them together. But
they were so long that they just hung in long arcs when Liz stood
perfectly straight. When she bent forward, as she was forced to do
several times, the cords did nothing to prevent the front from hanging
down vertically, completely revealing her firm tits from both sides.
To add to her discomfort, the loose, stiff cotton rubbed her sensitive
nipples with every movement of her body, sending sparks of
pleasure-pain through her breasts and down toward her sexual center.

   Finally, she finished the tops and again stood nude to the waist in
front of her small audience. She knew what was next, but hoped against
hope it wouldn't happen. Unfortunately, Madame Hillary handed up some
new clothes to her clerk and, simultaneously, Jim spoke the dreaded
words.

   "Next we've got some underwear and skirts and things. Take off the
rest of your clothes, Mom." Well, this is it, she thought. It will
only take a second, since all I'm wearing are these shoes and this
too-short mini-skirt. She kicked off the shoes and Alicia moved them
under the clothes tree. Her hands went to the waist of the skirt; her
fingers automatically unbuttoned it; but then she froze. Liz just
could not strip in public this way. She looked at Alicia beseechingly.
Receiving a nod from Madame Hillary, the salesgirl moved in front of
Liz and, kneeling to allow the audience a complete view, slid down the
zipper holding the skirt up. Her hands caressed Liz' hips and buttocks
as she slowly pushed the tight skirt down. When Liz' trimmed mound and
swollen lips were totally exposed, Alicia finished the embarrassed
woman's denuding quickly, sliding the skirt down her legs and raising
each of Liz' feet in turn to free it. It joined her top and bra an the
clothes tree.

   "Start with the hose, then the corset," Madame Hillary said,
pointing.

   Liz was handed a pair of 'whore' stockings: wide-meshed, thigh-high
hose with elastic tops. She looked for someplace to lean or sit, but
finding none, she resignedly rolled up one of the stockings and tried
to put it on one foot while standing one-footed on the other. She
spent the next few minutes hopping around the stage as she repeatedly
lost her balance. At last, she got her toes in the stocking properly.
Unfortunately, she only got her toes in right, and as she yanked the
stocking over her foot, she lost her balance for the last time, and,
with a scream of fear and frustration, fell with a loud SPPLLAATT on
her rump, her legs splayed widely and high in the air. Tears of
frustration welled in her eyes at the ribald laughter directed at her
by her audience.

   When the laughter had died down and Liz' tears threatened to
increase to hysterical proportions, Jimmy handed up a low stool to
Alicia, saying: "Get my mom on this stool and put the hose on for her.
I don't think she could bear to try THAT again."

   Liz quickly realized that the stool was a horrible new indignity.
It was so low that her knees were almost at the level of her chest,
so, as a leering Alicia began to put the hose on each foot, that leg
had to be stretched out and to the side. Any more spread, she thought
to herself, and she'd be in a convenient position for her
gynecologist. Her cunt gaped, and everyone in her audience stared
right back at it. Each stocking came up her leg slowly, lingeringly.
Alicia's hands were like those of a lover, stroking, stoking Liz'
flame. As the hose were adjusted high on her thighs, the blonde
clerk's fingers brushed 'accidentally' against her labia and clitoris
again and again. Each petting was punctuated by Alicia's loud,
mock-apologetic "Oh, excuse me," so the audience would know her digits
had touched an intimate spot. By the time the hose were on and
adjusted, Liz' secretions were glistening on her inner thighs above
the stocking tops.

   A pair of pumps with 5 inch heels were handed up and placed on her
feet so she could model the hose properly. After she had strutted
around the stage for some minutes, Alicia teasingly peeled off the
stockings and re-dressed her with the pair of crotchless pantyhose
Madame Hillary had selected for her earlier. By the time the store
clerk had painstakingly adjusted the seams around Liz' crotch and
ass-crack to everone's satisfaction, the poor mother-slave had lost
all touch with the degrading aspects of her public display and was
pulsing with the near-explosive heat radiating out from her lustful
cunt. While she walked and posed, her only awareness was of her wet,
swollen labia rubbing together.  When she sat open-legged on the
stool, every slight movement of air stung her hardened nipples and
clit. Finally, when the stiff, wasp-waisted corset was added to her
'outfit', the tightening of the lacings, which ordinarily would have
been painful, merely added to her submissive excitement.

   Everyone in the showroom could see the enormity of Liz' arousal.
Her chest was flushed and heaved with every panting breath. Her hands
were clenched and her eyes glazed. Hillary decided to add outer
garments to completely dress her. The tiny, child's skirt actually fit
around her waist - after Alicia tightened the corset a few more
gut-wrenching centimeters. Unfortunately, although the skirt covered
(barely) her front, in back it only covered her rounded ass about
three-quarters of the way down. Her panty-hosed lower cheeks and,
because of the open crotch, a good portion of her tight ass-crack were
visible no matter how stiffly she stood.

   "Ah, well, not for Buckingham palace, but interesting attire for a
stroll through Kensington Gardens." Madame Hillary turned to Jim.
"I'd use it as punishment garb. Dress her like this if she's naughty
and then bring your school-chums in for cake. Ask them loudly what
they're staring at, and see if anyone dares say that your mum's ass is
showing." She turned back to Liz. "But we'd best not have her cute
tits and that sex-flush on her chest showing, so let's add a top to
this ensemble."

   "How about the tube top?" Jim pointed to the elastic garment.  "If
she wears it low enough I'd guess it'll reach her waist and cover the
corset."

   Alicia looked to Madame Hillary for approval. "Yes, Alicia. It will
likely work perfectly. We certainly don't want the corset showing, so
let me get some pins to hold it to the skirt. I believe it will just
cover those perky nipples."

   After the pins were duly found and the bottom of the tube top
pinned to the waistband of the skirt, it was found that indeed the top
could be stretched to cover the nipples, and, in fact, the entire
aureoles of Liz' breasts. But that was, as the saying goes,
'stretching it.' So, unfortunately, if she walked, or even moved her
upper torso in any way, since the skirt was too tight to rise, the top
fell. Only an inch or two usually, but it fell. And that was plenty
far to pop her 'buttons' out. After she had pulled it back up over her
nipples several times, Jim told his mother that Alicia was there to
help her with her clothing, so she should ask Alicia if she wanted her
top adjusted.

   As Liz walked the circuit of the stage and, on orders from the
audience, bent and stretched and posed, she had to constantly plead
with the clerk to re-cover her exposed nipples. The young girl
accomplished this task by grasping one nipple hard between thumb and
forefinger, then pulling up the top on that side, then releasing the
nipple and sliding her covered hand slowly out up the slope of the
breast. Then she repeated the same process with the other nipple. It
seemed to some in the audience that Liz no longer was humiliated by
this, but rather stimulated, and made sure her top fell as often as
possible. She was that desperate to reach her imminent orgasm.

   "All right, Mom, that's enough. I think it's time to pay for our
purchases and find our hotel and get registered for the night. You can
change back to your regular clothes on the way out. Let's find the
front counter." Jim raised his hand to help hismother down from the
platform.

   Madame Hillary smiled at the look of confusion and, was it dismay?
on Liz MacKenzie's face. The poor, aroused woman thought that somehow
she would be forced (allowed) to climax on the stage.  "This way,
please, Master MacKenzie and... Lizzy-Butt." She strode toward the
front of the store.

   Liz was in such a haze that she didn't bother to do anything when
her nipples popped out as she descended onto the showroom floor and
followed her son and that... that Dragon Lady. The Fondor's wandered
away to complete their shopping with Alicia waiting on them, but Sir
William followed Hillary, Jim, and Jim's obscenely dressed mother to
the front counter.

   Liz found that most of her son's purchases were already packed in a
large carton and their prices totaled. When the clothing was added
(there were some items she had not tried on), the total bill was
almost as high as the cost of their airline tickets -- and this bill
was in pounds, not dollars. She didn't even consider complaining,
though. James, Jim's father, deserved to pay. He had gotten her into
this mess by letting Jimmy in on her secret shame.

   While she and the Dragon Lady were awaiting the credit
confirmation, Jim and the quiet British nobleman became engrossed in a
whispered conversation. Liz began worrying. Was Jim negotiating her
use? Would she be ordered onto that stage with the stocks? Was she
destined to spend the night in some ancient stone dungeon where her
anguished cries would echo endlessly as she was whipped and tortured
and raped. But her frustrated, lustful body was screaming in the
dungeon of her confused brain that it wouldn't, couldn't be rape --
she needed it too badly.

   Or perhaps the 'tweedy knight', as she had mentally christened Sir
William, was merely advising Jim that the proper 'punishment' for her
alleged transgressions was to tie her for the night in such a way that
she couldn't even use her hands to gain relief.

   Her clit, her nipples, every erogenous zone on her body stung so
bad, so erotically, that she despairingly hoped it would be the
dungeon.
 
     
       7.   Conspiracies...
 
 
Part a:
 
  James, Your ex-wife and son appeared this afternoon at the shop, and
everything is progressing much better than you envisioned.
 
  First of all, Jim has clearly pushed all the right buttons and made Liz into
his oh-so-obedient slave.
 
  Even better, by luck they spent their first two nights in England in
an inn (pub) owned by one Donald Bonds, an elephant-cocked animal on
the fringe of the B&D community.  He ALWAYS makes a BIG impression,
and I imagine he expanded Liz' vaginal horizons, so to speak.  Seizing
this chance, your enterprising son pretended that it was Bonds (rather
than you) who recommended my establishment.   (Jim wrote a note
telling me his identity and that I should pretend that the note was
from my 'friend', Don Bonds.)  Since Liz never read the note and knew
I was a stranger to both of them, the ruse made perfect sense to her.
(If this is what that lad is capable of as a thirteen-year-old, he'll
have half the women in the western world as his slaves when he reaches
manhood - I'm having fantasies about him myself!) The last stroke of
luck was that they happened to ring the bell at my store just after I
left the store briefly (for the prosaic purpose of making a bank
deposit, if you must know), so Alicia met them at the door.

You must remember Alicia, you had her naked and dangling from the
ceiling upside-down on your last visit.  I mentioned while you were here
that she'd make a good store-clerk/slave.  Well, she definitely has! 
Having no prior instructions, she quite properly refused them entry.
After all, there are laws even here on minors entering stores specializing
in sex paraphernalia.  At that moment (neat, yes?), I drove up and
countermanded her, in actuality because I recognized them from the photos
you sent, but ostensibly because of the supposed recommendation of Bonds.
 
It goes without saying that I used this as an excuse to punish Alicia in a
spectacular fashion in front of the customers.  So your innocent family
entered a  D&S fantasy as soon as they walked in the door!
 
Here's the complete story:
 
After acclimatizing Jim and Liz to the layout of the store, I put Alicia, 
naked from the waist down, in the stocks -- the head-wrist ones in the
former window display it was an inspired moment for Jim to abruptly drag
his mother from her naked Purgatorio on the dais at the exact moment she
expected to be elevated into a sexual Paradiso - I tell you the boy is gifted!
He then ordered her, while she positively shook with lust, to attend to the
mundane details of purchasing the bondage gear and slut clothing she had
modeled. 

[The total purchase ran to 1,300 pounds, which she paid without
murmur.]
 
Meanwhile, Sir William took Jim aside.  I found out later that William
was offering his hospitality to your boy and his mother.  He inquired
as to where they were staying while in Bath.  By coincidence (yes,
this entire extemporaneous scene was charmed), he has a large
financial interest in the very hotel at which your ex-wife made
reservations. William belongs to a partnership which owns the
facility, and they have dedicated some of its ost lavish
accommodations to themselves and 'like-minded' friends.  He was
consequently able to upgrade Jim and Liz' room to one of these special
suites and provide it at no cost.  He also invited the couple to dine
with his wife and himself in one of the rooms set aside for 'private'
banquets.  What he didn't tell Jim directly (but hinted at) was that a
select portion of the help at this hotel specializes in catering to
the type of sexual affairs that we all enjoy.  

I believe that Sir William has devised several surprises for a certain master
and his 'bond-mother' (to coin a term) both before and during that dinner.
 
If you are wondering, I have honored your wishes and kept your interest in
this affair a secret.  Sir William believes that, like himself, I am merely
captivated by the voyeuristic aspects of this situation.  It would appear that
his ideas will probably further your plans, however, since although you
never have informed me exactly where this script is leading, I have the
impression that it suits you to have your son show off his mother in more
and more humiliating and sexually degrading situations.  Being humiliated in
front of (and perhaps BY) menial hotel workers will certainly be a impressive
move for her in that direction.  I hinted to William that I would enjoy candid
photos.  Of course, I had secret cameras running all afternoon at the store.  
You should receive your first pictures and tapes by courier in about a week. 
If you can't wait, I can digitize select tidbits and e-mail them, but the quality
loss is too high, in my opinion.  Let me know.
 
I guess some background on my relationship with Sir William may help you
to assess this new element in the situation.  He is what has become a rarity
in this country:  a minor member of the aristocracy who is wealthy enough
to hold on to his family's extensive real estate assets.  These provide him
with more than enough income for his every whim.  More to the point, he is
my uncle(!) -- my mother's brother -- and... well, he introduced me to
Dominance and Submission!
 
Someday (probably after my uncle has died) I want to write a book about
our relationship through the years, but for now, since I have no doubt
piqued your interest (or should I say interested your 'prique') I'll give you a
brief synopsis as to how he taught me.
 
When I was about 11 years old, my mother began sending me to his estate
for visits, at first just for a day or weekend, and finally, as my 12th
birthday approached, for the entire summer.  Why for the summer?
Well, on my last weekend visit before that summer, I misbehaved quite seriously,
and Uncle William sternly took me over his knee for the first real physical
punishment of my young life.
 
In full view of my Aunt Dierdre, he yanked both my shorts and my knickers
down and off my legs, then vigorously spanked me.  I screamed at the pain;

I blushed at the humiliation of knowing my Aunt, who was directly
behind me, could see my private areas; but most of all I was terrified
of the violent sensations coursing through my body.  After each volley
of about 20 sharp smacks, my Uncle would stop and lecture me, while
running his hands over my adolescent bottom and thighs.  I would
relax, thinking my ordeal was over, my deepest being soothed by the
pleasure of his soft touch, when suddenly WHACK! he would start again.
I can't remember the number of those cycles, but I will always
remember that, during the last flurry of spanks, my hips were
undulating in time with the punishment, rising to meet each slap, then
grinding my pelvis into his knee as his cupped hand smacked my
buttock.
 
Finally, he stopped and lifted me off his knee to stand in front of him.
I was so stunned by the punishment that I stood facing the two of them,
wiping my tearing eyes, not even conscious that I was naked from the waist
down.
 
"Have you learned your lesson?"  His voice was firm, but somehow in
sympathy with my mood.  I nodded, wide-eyed.  "Good.  I believe I shall
request of your mother that you visit us for the entire summer.  Would you
like that?"
 
Believe it or not, I nodded again, vehemently.  I wasn't thinking of his park,
or the horses I could ride, or the swimming pool.  I wasn't thinking of the
spanking per se, or my nakedness, or the burning pleasure in my crotch. 
This sounds crazy, but I was thinking about how much I loved them both!
I guess there's must be a B&D or D&S gene  :-)   (sort of like the homos are
attempting to convince everyone that there is a queer gene).
 
At any rate, my mother agreed readily to send me to Sir William's for more
than two months.  She told me that since he was childless and held the
family title, any interest he took in me could not but help my future.
She also gave me a rather strange lecture concerning my duty, while at
someone else's home, to obey their rules and follow their customs. I wondered
if she knew or suspected about my spanking, but kept silent.  I felt it was a
secret between my aunt and uncle and myself.
 
I was an apt student of their 'customs':
 
The evening I arrived, Sir William called me to his study.  He informed me
that since I was now to be a member of the household and not just a guest,
I must follow without question the rules of his house.  He  promised me that
any disobedience or rebellion on my part would be met with severe physical
chastisement.  He mentioned that my prior spanking was  merely a gentle
warning.  Next, he shocked me with his first rule:  I was always to be completely
deferential to all adult males:  curtseying when I entered their presence, 
speaking respectfully when spoken to, and never, ever contradicting them.
 
Here I made a mistake common to submissives.  I spoke out against...
the rule against speaking out: which, of course, contradicted him.  I got
as far as "Uncle William, that's not fair...",  when he rose from his chair, his
face severe, his eyes sparking.
 
"What did I just very emphatically say, young lady?"
 
My composure disappeared.  I sank to my knees in front of his tall,
lean form which towered above me.  "I'm sorry... I didn't mean... Oh, Sir...
Please!"
 
"Let me repeat.  What did I just say!"  He spread his legs and placed his
hands on his hips.
 
I was so terrified that I began to hiccough.  It must have been quite comical
for him, listening to me trying desperately to repeat every word he had told
me while hiccoughing every third or fourth word.  But his face never lost its
ferocity.  When I finally finished, he nodded.
 
"You listened, but clearly you didn't hear.  Is rebellion tolerated in this
household?"
 
"N-n-nooo, (hic), S-s-sir."
 
"What is the penalty for rebellion?"
 
"A s-s-spank... a (hic) whipp... Physical ch-chastise(hic)ment, but I don't
know exactly how, Sir."  My hands slid around to cover my backside as I
knelt.
 
He said nothing.  He merely unbuckled his belt and, directly in front of my
cowering face, slid it out of the loops on his pants.
 
"Oh, please, Sir (hic).  Please.  Your hand, like last time.  I'll never..."
 
"Stand up and remove your lower clothing, girl."
 
I stifled any further pleas and rose to my feet.  Slowly, shamefully, I
lowered my shorts and clumsily removed them.  Then I hooked my thumbs
in my knickers and, with a hiccoughed sob, pushed them down.  When they
reached my crotch, I realized to my everlasting shame that they were
ticking to my moist pee-slit (as I then called my vagina).  The knickers
stretched further and further, still adhering, as I pushed downward.
They were at my knees by the time they pulled free of my sex.  I groaned.
To my utter dismay my uncle sounded out a "tsk, tsk."
 
As I stepped out of my knickers, I realized that my shoes and stockings
were still on.  He had said lower clothing, and I certainly did not want to
make things worse, so I removed my foot-coverings while I was bent over. 
When I arose, my lower torso, legs, and feet were on complete display.
 
My body had just started to develop towards womanhood.  My vulva was
bare, and almost without visible labia.  To the viewer it looked like a
compressed dark line bisected the puffiness of my juvenile mons, where
four or five pitch-black hairs stood out like trees in a meadow.  Some lucky
girls first grow a fluffy down between their legs which slowly darkens and
thickens.  My pubis grew one stark black hair at a time.  (Am I turning you
on, James?)
 
Uncle William pointed to an overstuffed arm-chair.  "Bend from the waist,
girl.  Use your hands on the chair-arms for support."  Terrified, I obeyed.
  
"Good.  Now lower your upper body until your face rests on the seat. 
Keep your legs straight and spread them.  Wider.  I must warn you to
brace yourself.  You will remain in that position or we'll begin all over again. 

You wouldn't want that, would you?"
 
"Oh, no, Sir."  I replied.
 
"Hmph.  So that there is no misunderstanding, do you deserve this whipping?"
 
A pause.  "(hic) Yes, Sir."
 
"Do you think it will help you to remember the rules of the house?"
 
Reluctantly:  "Yes, Sir."
 
There was complete silence (except for an occasional 'hic' from me)
for about a minute, then a quick whim, and leather met my bottom with a
sharp crrrraaack.  The shock! The pain!  I almost threw myself to the floor
to crawl away and soothe the awful sting with my hands.  Somehow, though,
I kept my stance:  a sharp quick scream torn from my lips was the only sign
of the dreadful panic I felt.
 
Four more dreadful blows struck my upthrust buttocks, and by their
conclusion I was moaning and mumbling continuously.  Then, after a
brief pause, I felt my uncle's broad hand stroke my red, stinging rear.
 
"Since this is your first punishment, I'll finish it with a hand spanking,
rather than 15 more with the belt, if you promise to be more respectful for
the balance of your stay.  Well?"
 
"Oh, yes, I'll be very respectful to every man, sir, I promise.
Please just spank me with your hand."  I automatically pushed my rear into his
palm.  I wanted no more of the fearsome belt.
 
The odd thought came to me that my hiccoughs had disappeared.
 
My fanny (remember, my dear American friend, over here our 'fannies' are
strictly female and on the front side of our crotch) was pushed back
between my legs by my bent-over posture, so his hand was brushing over
it repeatedly as he rubbed my posterior.  I never had realized how sensitive it
was.  I was no longer moaning, but my breathing had become labored and
gasping.
 
He began to spank.  Either he was being gentle or the comparison with his
belt was extreme, because the slaps stung and heated my nether area
without really being agonizing.  My fanny (OK, pussy) was not spared,
but usually it was just the tips of his fingers which snapped against my
little lips, reddening and sensitizing them.
 
Like the first time he had spanked me, he stopped frequently to stroke
and soothe my tender flesh.  This time, though, he spent much of the time
running his fingers down both my ass crack and pussy slit.  I had never felt
anything like it!  My previous explorations of that area had been quick and
20 furtive.  I knew I could provoke tiny sparks of pleasure touching myself
there, but THIS threatened to become a fire-storm.
 
Finally, he finished.  With a slap to my stretched thigh, he ordered me up.
I turned around to face him, sensing that he would be displeased somehow
if I tried to cover myself.   I eyed hopefully, however, my clothing scattered
on the floor.  He appeared interested in it, too.
 
He picked up my shorts, waded them up, and contemptuously tossed them
into a corner, informing me that while in his charge I would wear feminine
clothes - he didn't want me looking to be a common street urchin.  My
knickers, stockings and shoes he passed on reluctantly, remarking that
I must be provided with better, so I quickly donned them, fearing he would
change his mind.  Then he scrutinized the tee shirt I was wearing, and, of
course, found it completely unacceptable.  He ordered it removed, and
when I had done so and handed it over to him, it joined my shorts in the
corner.
 
My breasts, at the time, consisted of little pointed cones topped by
precociously large and dark nipples.  Although I had a selection of training
bras, I usually didn't bother with one under a tee shirt with only my family
present, so I now stood wearing nothing from my ankles to the top of my
head but my brief, French-cut knickers.  Uncle William asked if I possessed
bras, but when I nodded affirmatively he told me that at this stage in my
development I had no need to wear one.  He promised to send Aunt
Dierdre to my room to sort through the clothing I had brought and said
that the next day he would see that I was fitted with clothing more suited
to a 'developing' young lady.
 
I was dismissed.
 
Dismissed?  Wearing almost nothing at all?  Well, I had just learned
arduously that it behooved me to obey my uncle without murmur, so I
forced myself to walk out of his study and close the door behind me.
The house had never seemed so large as I snuck, half-naked, from his study
in a far corner of the main floor of the house to my bedroom on the third floor.
 
The butler saw me as I approached the main stairs.  He cleared his throat
as, cowering in embarrassment, I passed him.  This stopped me:  was I
angering another adult?  I suddenly realized that servants had not been
exempted from my Uncle William's rule!  I blushed a brilliant crimson as I
turned toward him and, lowering my hands from my little tits, curtseyed to him.
 
"Good evening, Evans."  He was openly ogling my chest.
 
"Good evening, Miss.  I see you find the evening rather warm.  Would you
care for a cold drink in the kitchen?"
 
I shook my head, trying to keep from turning and running up the stairs.
 
"When Madame gets overheated, she sometimes asks for some pieces of ice
to slide across her bare (his voice emphasized this word: 'bare') body. 
Could I fetch some for you?"
 
When he spoke of the sliding ice, my nipples grew and hardened as if they
were being pulled toward him.  But I was frightened of the entire situation.

"Thank you, Evans, but I don't believe so, I think I'll retire to my
room."
 
"As you wish, Miss."
 
Nodding as respectfully as I could under the circumstances, I turned and
sped upstairs, feeling Evans' eyes on my scantily-covered rear.
 
When I finally gained my bedroom, I threw myself on the bed and wept. 
As I curled into a fetal position, however, my fists pressed into my crotch.

My whimpers of humiliation and pain faded as my hands began a rhythmic
pressing against my mound.  One of the hands slid up my body (like
ice) and teased the hard nubs atop my tits.  Gradually, I turned onto
my back and, without conscious thought, pushed my knickers down and
off for the econd time that evening.  My fingers mimicked my uncle's
delicate stroking of my slit until I understood the secret terrain of
my vulva and, eventually, found my clitoris.  By the time the first
climax of my life struck me, only my heels and shoulders were on the
bed as my yearning body arched toward unknown ecstasy.
 
I still consider that orgasm to be one of the most violent and encompassing
of my life.  (Wish you were there to watch, James?)
 
My Aunt did come by later and, by her attitude if not her mission,
comforted me as she sorted through my clothing.  Three pair of tight
bikini drawers, one light, short summery dress, a miniskirt with coordinating
spaghetti-strap top, and my riding clothes were all that she left me.
The rest she carried away to be repacked so that I could reclaim them for my
trip home.
 
I dreamed of ice sliding over my body and 'physical chastisement'.
 
The next morning at breakfast Dierdre mentioned that she would be
sunbathing by the pool and that she would enjoy my company.  I accepted
with alacrity, wanting desperately to avoid my uncle and even the lurking
butler, Evans.  I flew back upstairs to change, then realized that my Aunt
had not left me a swimsuit.  However, when I rummaged desperately
through my bureau, I found an old suit of mine that I must've left the
preceding year on one of my visits.  It was a 'little girl' bikini.
The bottom had fit me before I developed hips, and the top consisted of some
string and two patches to cover the minute nipples on a young girl's flat chest. 
 
Desperate, now, I made it fit and, grabbing a towel and wrapping it around
my waist as a skirt, I went out to the pool.  The sight which greeted me
when I arrived at poolside brought me up short.
 
My Aunt was lying on her stomach on a chaise, her smooth, bare back
and buttocks seeming to indicate total nudity.  Unable to accept that, I
thought of what now would be called a 'thong'.  On a vacation trip with my
parents to the Mediterranean the preceding year, I had seen (briefly, before
my parents dragged me away) women - and men - wearing 'Le Minimum' on
the beaches.  (To give you an idea of the garment, it was also called a 'cache-sex'.)
I decided she must be wearing something of that sort, but I remained nervous since
I could spy no straps or strings as I approached her.
 
When I was only a few feet away, she looked back over her shoulder and,
seeing me, began to roll over.
 
"Ah, Hillary, I see Will has left it to me to inform..."  But I wasn't listening. 
I was staring at her totally nude body as it came into view:  her spectacular
nude body, glowing an even golden brown from total exposure to the summer sun.
Her breasts were large - I had been able to tell that even when she was clothed - 
but their natural heft and firmness was unbelievable.  The aureoles were large and
reddish-brown, (even though she had never had a child) and the hard nipples were...
well, they looked succulent!  Her stomach was almost flat, but, lying back the way
she was, it had a delicate curvature down to a totally shaved mons.
 She had swung a leg out as she rolled over, so her sex was on complete
and open display to me.  Her labia were mature and full, with those curving 'lobes'
on each side that I now call 'orchid petals'.   I was a small girl at the time but
her unhooded clitoris  was bigger than my little toe.  
(I'll bet you're thinking: 'How do I know that exactly?'
Well, for now, just take it as a fact that I KNOW.{giggle}) 

Aunt Dierdre was, all in all, a slimmed-down twentieth century
rendering of the fertility goddesses of old.  As a rather innocent (as
of my arrival at my Uncle's house) eleven year old child, I had never
even imagined the ossibility of lesbian sex, but at that moment I had
a fierce urge to kneel and reverently kiss that beautiful orchid.
 
"Hillary.  Hillary!"  She shattered the enchantment I was under.  "You had better listen.
One of the rules of this house is that the only appropriate garb at poolside is none at all.
You'd best get rid of those wisps of cloth before William, or even one of the servants, 
spies you.  Females must always be naked, men will usually be the same way.  Now!"
 
My confusion was total, but the message did get through that if I didn't take
my suit off, I would be punished by Uncle William.  So, without further thought, 
my hands found the ties and the minute bikini fluttered to the ground. 
I wasn't completely bemused, however, so one forearm swung up to cover my breasts,
while the other hand cupped my crotch as I hunched over.  Now what,  I wondered.
 
"Oh, Hillary, you delightful innocent."  My aunt's voice was lyrical, sympathetic.
"Instead of being silly, why not take a swim to accustom yourself to the situation.
 Swimming naked is, in my opinion, the second most pleasurable experience of life. 
Dive in!  You'll never want to wear clothes again."
 
She didn't have to suggest it twice.  All I could think was that the deep water would cover me,
shield me from sight.  I dove.  And found a new pleasure.  She was right! It was delightful.
I had dreamt of ice, but the sharp, chill touch of the water flowing against every inch of my body
made me want to stay swimming beneath the surface forever.
 
I swam and frolicked like the child I was.  After a while I found myself up out of the pool
onto the deck ready to arch into a dive - not thinking about being seen.  For an instant before
I dove I looked back at my aunt. Her face was alive with glee, and she winked.  I stuck out
my tongue at her and launched myself back into the water.
 
When I finally quit the pool, I dried myself with my towel and my mind came back 
to the problem of my nudity.  Dierdre took control.  She told me to lay my towel on the chaise
next to her, sit down on it, and stretch out and relax.  As I mindlessly complied she asked
if I would like a lemonade. I nodded and stretched out as revealingly and casually as she.
 
We were talking of the sensuous delight of 'skinny-dipping', when I heard the sound of a footfall
on the other side of me.  I whirled around to see Evans, the butler, nearly next to my chaise.
I wanted to roll over, to cover my front, but my aunt's hand firmly grasped my other arm and stilled me,
as one would a horse.

 7.   Conspiracies...
 
 
Part b:
 
"You rang, Madame?"  I hadn't noticed, but she had a servant's button next to her chair.
 
"Yes, Sir," my aunt replied.  The most confusing thing about that household was that the male servants
spoke respectfully to the women of the house, but the women were forced to treat them as masters.
 "If you would be so kind, young Hillary and I would like lemonades."
 
"Certainly, Madame."  He was speaking to her but his eyes never rose as high as her face.
 The orbs examined our bodies with minute care.  I could actually feel them as they roved my secret areas.
 After about a minute (which felt like hours), he made an arrogant bow and returned to the house.
 
"Must we allow him so much liberty, Aunt Dierdre?"  I still found it nigh impossible to credit.
 
"Yes."  Just the one word, but her eyes said that there was nothing, could be nothing, to question.
 I guess at that moment I finally admitted to myself that I was powerless.  Even she called even the butler
-- the BUTLER!-- "Sir," and she was MY superior.

Too soon Evans returned.  He presented us with our drinks, and we both
said, "thank you, Sir." Then he focused his attention on my aunt.
 
"If Madame will recall, the Master has specified that tanning oil should be used to avoid dry skin or burning.
 Shall I apply some on you now?"
 
"Thank you for reminding me, Sir."  For the first time I saw uncertainty and embarrassment suffuse my aunt's face.
 "Yes, certainly.  I have some here under my chaise.  Please..." she audibly gulped, "please apply it thoroughly."
 She raised her arms and extended them above her head, making the entire front of her recumbent nude body
available to him.
 
Evans opened the bottle and poured a dollop into the palm of one hand.

"As you wish, Madame."
 
He started on her hands and arms and slowly worked downward.  When he
reached her torso he slowed, clearly reveling in the feel of her breasts, her
belly, and ultimately her shaved mound.
 
Her eyes had closed as soon as he started.  Soon she was breathing hard
and her marvelous thighs were undulating to his stroking.
 
He oiled her legs with long strokes beginning at her toes and ending at her
sex.  Then he cleared his throat, and she immediately rolled over.  He again
worked from the top down.  When he reached her buttocks she yielded to
the sensations and raised her hips off the chaise, her spread legs displaying a
rear view of both her anal pucker and her slit.  He carefully and thoroughly
ran his fingers into her buttocks crack, then down onto her perineum and
inside her labial lips.  Then again.  And Again.  Her hips rose higher and
higher, corkscrewing against his fingers.  Suddenly, he moved on to her legs
and feet, then cleared his throat to signal he had finished.
 
"Th-thank you, Sir."  My aunt's voice was trembling.  She stole a glance at
me and quickly looked away at my open-mouthed stare.
 
"Miss Hillary, I believe you will also need an application of this tanning oil
if you wish to avoid your uncle's censure.  Shall I?"
 
As you may well imagine, that brought me up quick.  My arms flew to
cover my nakedness.  My mouth turned dry.
 
"No, then?  As you wish, Miss.  I shall inform Sir William that you did not
feel the need to obey this particular directive."  But Evans made no move to
leave.  A leering smile formed on his face as he waited confidently for my
capitulation.
 
"Uh, wait, Evans.  I mean 'Sir'.  Uh, yes, please, give me..." I looked at
Aunt Dierdre, trying to remember her words, "give me a thorough application, Sir."
 
He merely stood waiting.  Finally, realizing what he wanted, I raised my
arms, stretched them above my head in surrender, and moved my legs apart.
I hated the look on Evans' face as he pawed my body.  I hated the large bulge
in his trousers which attested to his selfish pleasure at my debasement. 
But my body betrayed me, tingling from his touch and finally rising unbidden
to his unsubtle caresses.  He repeated what he had done to my aunt's bare body,
starting with my front, lingering on my erogenous zones, and then completing his
conquest with me on my stomach, my bottom raised beseechingly with my pubescent
vagina wet, open, and pulsing with need.
 
He withdrew his hands with a most unservile chuckle, leaving me postured like a hound bitch in heat.
 
I collapsed, weeping, as I heard his footsteps moving away.
 
Both Aunt Dierdre and myself tried futilely to cool our enflamed bodies by
swimming furiously up and down the length of the pool for what seemed like hours.
Finally, we were forced to retire defeated to prepare ourselves for lunch.
 
That afternoon a balding, rotund man who stank of cigarette smoke came to
measure me for new clothes.  Sometime, I'll write you twenty pages etailing his mistreatment
and manhandling of my body, right in the presence of my uncle, who calmly discussed my
development and his ideas as to how to best decorate my body with this abhorrent tailor.
Suffice it to say that the MOST I wore during those two hours were the too-small panties,
and those less than half the time!
 
Well, he left me no new clothes, only a promise of deliveries in the next few days,
so I had to make due that evening with my small supply.  (Even as naive as I was,
I had no doubts as to my uncle's response if I claimed I had 'not a thing to wear.')
The next morning, to avoid exposure and humiliation at the pool, I went to the stables to ride.
 
There was a boy of sixteen, Johnny, whom I had always wanted to flirt with, employed
as a stableboy/groom by my uncle.  I had held back for fear that this older boy would laugh at me,
but dreamt that he would one day sweep me off my feet and profess his undying adoration.
 
Unfortunately, that morning I became acquainted with another aspect of my position in the household.
 
As I approached him in the stable, I gave him my sunniest smile and swept by with what I hoped
was a saucy waggle of my hips.  Just as I passed, I heard that dread sound.  He cleared his throat.
 
I would have rathered a whipping from my uncle or a full day under the 'care' of  Evans.
It took all my strength to stop, turn around and address him.
 
"Good morning, uh, John."  Since I was wearing my tight riding pants, I gave him a respectful bow
instead of a curtsey.  My mind was whirling.

This was all wrong!  He was to be my ardent suitor, not another
superior! 

But I kept my eyes lowered respectfully.
 
"Good morning, Hillary girl."  He glanced down, as if following my eyes. 

"You know, my boots have become soiled, working with the horses."  His
eyes twinkled with glee.  "Would you please clean them for me?"  He
paused.  "Just lick them off."
 
His boots were coated with mud and, well, the offal of the horses.
But I actually started to bend my knee to begin the loathsome task, when some inner pride
finally broke through my subservience.
 
"You overstep your bounds, boy!"  My voice was low but magically forceful.  I glared at him
haughtily and turned and walked off as he stood stupefied.
 
My anger stayed and fused as I strode toward the house.  My uncle was usually in his study
-- his sanctum sanctorum -- at this time of day, so that is where I headed.  I threw open the closed door
and marched in with head high...
 
To gaze upon the upstairs maid, naked to the waist, on her knees in front of
Uncle William as he slouched in his chair, pants around his ankles, most of his large,
erect male organ in her mouth.  Her head rose in startled confusion at the intrusion,
but he pushed it back down on his shaft, barking, "Continue!"  The he turned to me,
his eyes furious, his mouth opening to speak.
 
"Uncle William." I talked at a furious pace, forestalling his ire. "Tomorrow is my birthday.
 I want only one present.  I want that stableboy, Johnny, for my, uh, respectful, uh,
personal servant.  You have led me to believe that my station here is as a young lady of the house.
 But so far I have been treated worse the lowliest serf.  If you will not do this one thing for me,
I will remain here, and obey, obey, obey, but will lose all my love for you and my aunt. 
 
"I realize that I am now being most disobedient and disrespectful, and will probably be punished.
 However, I beg you consider what I have said.
 
"Excuse me, Sir."  I quickly turned and fled to my room.
 
As soon as my door closed behind me, I threw myself onto the bed, weeping hysterically.
 I had done the unthinkable, disobeyed every rule he had given me.  I was in terror.
 An interminable time later, I heard his measured tread outside my door.
 
I leapt up and went to the window, standing with my back to the door as if gazing
at something in the garden.  All of this was automatic, I thought nothing through,
I did not plan.  But when my door opened, I kept my back turned until he spoke.
 
"Little Hillary."  His voice had a mysterious quality, not harsh or angry.
 
"Yes, Uncle William."  I tried to keep my voice and legs steady as I turned and bowed formally,
holding my back straight.
 
"FCCome here." 
 
I walked -- staggered is probably a better word, since my knees were now shaking --
over to him and stood less than a yard from his tall figure.
 
"I had a hunch about you, even when you were a little child.  'Spunk', I called it then,
but now I call it strength, and dignity, and... and a mind so like mine, it's incredible.
You're a throw-back, young lady, since I'm sure your parents would still be out in that stable,
licking that boy's shitty boots. 
 
"I don't want you to leave, ever.  I want you to be more than a daughter to me."
 His face was earnest, almost pleading,  Mine must have been glowing with pleasure,
since he continued:  "Now remember, you would still have the same rules, or even stricter ones. 
 Evans will continue to do almost --  I say almost -- anything he pleases with you. 
 But Johnny will be yours, as, what did you say, your respectful personal servant? 
 I'll be more blunt, he'll be your total slave, and he'll come to love it.  Well?"
 
"Yes.  Oh, yes, Uncle William.  I love you so."  [I know, James, it was a corny scene,
 but I still feel that way, if on a more mature level.]  I literally dived into my uncle's arms
 and kissed him on the lips.  The way he kissed back drove the point home to me
 that I was to be 'MORE than a daughter.'
 
After four or five minutes he pushed me gently away.  "But you did disobey the rules, I believe.
How serious do you consider your offence?"
 
He was giving me a voice in my trial.  I wanted to plead all of the special circumstances,
but stopped myself.  "I broke every rule you gave me in the most serious way possible.
 If you don't want me interrupting you..." I gave him a saucy look, "every time I have a problem,
I guess my punishment must be something I'd never, ever want to happen twice."  I hung my head. 

I knew that he must give me just such a punishment,  I suddenly
realized I certainly would in his place.
 
"Yes.  I'm gratified we agree.  Take off those riding clothes.  You certainly don't deserve the privilege
 of covering your body after what you did. Then come downstairs to the entry hall."
 
I shed them as quickly as possible.  I knew that from now till this was over, I'd best obey very
quickly and without question.  As I walked from my bedroom I kept my arms at my sides.
 He demanded that my body be seen.

I complied.
 
The main hall ran from the front entrance to the main staircase, with openings into 
the parlor and family sitting room.  It continued beside the staircase and became servant's passages. 
 My uncle and the butler were working just where the ceiling lowered into those rear passages. 

They had brought in two similar low stools and a ladder.  Evans was
part way up the ladder attaching a rope to a hook in the ceiling.  As
I walked up and curtseyed almost to the floor, my uncle glanced, not
at me but at my little breasts and exposed pudendum.
 
"While we finish up, get down on your knees and elbows, nose touching the floor, bottom pushed up. 
 Close your eyes and remain still till I tell you."
 
I followed his directions while he was talking, pressing my nose into the wooden floor until it hurt
 and spreading my legs, without him telling me, so that my sex was completely displayed.
 
WHACK!  WHACK!  As the men worked, they slapped my buttocks hard
whenever they drew close.  Their bare hands hurt as badly as the belt had. 

At one point, someone else (it sounded like a woman) walked up and put
down something solid.  It sounded like wood.  Then I felt fingers,
female fingers, roaming my behind and between my legs.   A finger
pushed hard past my anal sphincter into my butt, almost causing me to
move or squeal. 

It withdrew and moved to my slit, probing for my adolescent hole, then
ramming in, further and further until I could feel the knuckles of her
hand pressed against my labia.  As she wriggled the entire finger
around in this area, which had never before been probed, my uncle made
some remark about another surprise from little Hillary.  It wasn't
until much later that he questioned me and after making sure that I
was innocent, explained to me one of the side effects of horseback
riding by young girls.
 
The woman spoke not at all, and I never did find out who she was -- 
I suspect either Aunt Dierdre or that upstairs maid I had unwittingly embarrassed earlier.
  Finally, she stopped poking and prodding and left.  I got three last vicious slaps on my rear,
 and my uncle commanded me to rise.
 
The first thing I saw as I got up was a long, wide paddle, with a leather- covered handle.
  Attached to the handle was an oval expanse of thin polished wood that had been scored to a ribbed effect.
  The paddle surface was about fifteen inches long and nine wide.
 
Before I had time for the evil purpose of this instrument to really penetrate my mind,
 my uncle ordered me to step up onto the stools, one foot on each. 

This wasn't easy, as they were about two feet high and had been set
over two feet apart.  Evans graciously 'helped' me, with one hand
clawing and squeezing my buttock and the other cupping the front of my
naked crotch. 

When I was steady, my uncle climbed the ladder and told me to raise my
hands together above my head.  He then tied them with the rope and
tightened it so that my body was stretched, but not uncomfortably so,
from my spread legs to my arms extended toward the ceiling.
 
"My sweet Hillary, you will be in this position for quite a while, so relax  as much as you can.
  Here are the rules.  Whenever anyone comes by, male or female, servant or guest
 (notice that you can be seen as soon as a person comes in the front door) 
you will inform them that you have been an extremely bad girl who needs to be punished.
  You will plead with them to use this paddle," Sir William took the paddle by the handle,
 " and to spank your naughty ass with it as hard and as many times as they are able."
 He moved around me as he spoke and swung the paddle -- HARD -- at my
bare bottom.  I screamed in agony as the supple, ridged wood smacked into that soft flesh. 
 I was still feverishly shaking my burning posteriors when the paddle struck again, and then once more.
 
"Aarrggghhh!  Nooo, please, no more!  I can't stand it!" I almost lost my balance as I instinctively
 tried to bring my legs together, and one stool almost overturned.
 
"No!!"  Uncle William's voice rang out.  "You won't beg or plead for anyone to stop.  In fact, 
after each stroke you will encourage them to proceed!  You will recite 'Thank you, sir or madame, 
for paddling me. Please do it again, harder.'  Now let's try again."  He walked away, then returned 
and looked at me expectantly.
 
I realized I had to get the entire speech right.  "Please, Sir, I've been a very bad girl who must be punished.
  Please use that wooden paddle and spank my naughty a-a-ass.  Do it hard and as many times as you can."
 
"A fair translation," he mumbled to himself.  Then, to me: "No, I couldn't bear to spank a pretty young girl like you." 
 He patted my hip gently and started to walk away.
 
I was about to thank him when it struck me that my uncle had no scruples about
hurting me with that dreadful paddle.  "Oh, please, sir.  I'm such a naughty girl.  You must spank me." 
 I got an idea, I don't at all know how this idea came to me, but it was inspired. 
 "Look, Sir, look at my naughty, bare sex."
  I pushed my pelvis forward and wriggled it as much as I could in my bondage.
  "Don't you want to touch me?  Everywhere?  You can if you'll just spank my bare rear end.  Pleeease?"
 
"Well, I see you ARE very naughty."
  He walked back and reached out to pinch and fondle my exposed pussy lips.
  "Yes, you're even wet!  Shame on you, slut." 
 He walked behind me and though I steeled myself, 
the paddle walloped the already sore flesh so hard that I almost swung away on the rope. 
 But I forced the breath back in my lungs and, in my best cute, little girl voice warbled:
 
"Oha-a-ah, thank you, sir.  That was perfect.  Please do it  again, and harder this time if you can."
 
"All right."  The paddle hit harder (if that was possible) and at an angle.
 
One of my knees came up until the leg pressed my belly. 
 It took a moment of hanging by my hands to regain my position.
 
I repeated my 'mantra', and the paddle struck again, angling down instead of up.
  I felt I would pass out any second, but mindlessly repeated the insane request for more.
 
This time the paddle didn't swing.  "You did well, pretty one."
  He kissed my flaming rear cheek.  "You discovered the second rule. 
 You will offer your body to anyone who does not initially wish to hurt you. 
 In fact, this is a very strict rule.  Everyone must punish you. 
 If anyone passes you while you are here and never punishes you at all with the paddle,
 that will be considered failure and disobedience on your part,
 and you will repeat this punishment all day tomorrow.  That would be a quite
disappointing birthday, would it not?  Especially since I will not cancel the party.
Think of this hall filled with people you know giving you your 'birthday spankings'."
  He paused to let that image sink in.  "So entice people any way you can.
  Promise them future pleasure, anything, but don't allow them NOT to paddle you.  Understood?"
 
Even my young mind knew that this was insane. 
 One kind person could condemn me to a humiliation beyond imagining.
  My parents and brother and cousins and... and EVERYONE was coming to the party.
  "Yes, I understand, Uncle William."
 
"Good.  Now one other thing.  You will tell each person, either before or after he punishes you, 
that it is my wish that they examine and play with your body,  especially the sexual areas.
  If they demur tell them they will be surprised at how easily you get sexually excited. 
 You're excited right now, you know."
  He pushed his index finger into my vagina, which was so lubricated that it accepted it easily.
 
I shuddered with arousal and my face blushed as red as my bottom."Yes, UncleWilliam."
 
"I'll now leave you to your punishment.  You won't be eating lunch today.
 Maybe I'll let you down late this afternoon -- if you've obeyed the rules."
 
He strode off to his study.
 
Late this afternoon?  I couldn't possibly last that long.  I'd be bleeding. ..unconscious... dead!
  My reverie was interrupted by a quiet cough. Evans was still there, a sadistic smile on his face. 
 It only took me a second to comprehend.  He wanted to be first!
 
I recited my lines, pleading with him to spank my wicked ass.  He merely hook his head. 
 No!  He had heard the rules.  Was he going to be the one to refuse to punish me, just for spite? 
 I shook my pussy in his face. Asked him to excite my naughty body. 
 He complied.  For ten minutes his hands were everywhere, prodding,
 poking, wriggling inside my sex, pinching my nipples, and, yes, against my will,
 arousing me.  When he finished he started to walk away.
 
"Wait!  You haven't paddled my ass yet.  Hurt me!  It's what you like!"
 
He looked back at me strangely, then smiled.  "Yes, Miss Hillary.  It is ONE
of the things I dearly like.  Perhaps I'll come back later."
 
As he left, I babbled on, imploring him, but he disappeared.  He'll have to be back,
 I thought, the hall and front door are his responsibility.
 
All too soon my musings were interrupted, someone else came to my Calvary.
  In fact, all afternoon I was never alone for more than fifteen or twenty minutes.
  And everyone else was happy, eager to paddle my sore, bruised, aching buttocks. 
 After they did that, they were even more eager to explore my young, naked body: 
especially the women.  And of the women, the most enthusiastic was the upstairs maid, Lucy.  
I guess she wanted revenge sevenfold for her embarrassment that morning, 
so she used her fingers unmercifully on both my front and rear orifices. 
 Finally, about midafternoon, when she returned for the sixth time, 
she managed to push two fingers into my pussy and two into my asshole simultaneously. 
 She began moving the two hands in counterpoint: in-out, out-in.  
I moaned from the pain of the stretching, but finally through that pain a dam broke and 
I climaxed loud and long.  She walked away, laughing uproariously, 
but at least she didn't come back after that.
 
Evans, though, came back constantly.  Each time I had to repeat my entire speech.
  Each time he handled me like I was an inanimate piece of meat,
 becoming more and more vicious until I preferred the pain of the paddle on my bruised butt 
to his twisting pinches of my nipples, and, eventually, my clitoris.
  I noted the shadows beginning to lengthen and became desperate to think of something 
with which to bargain with him.  I had already offered to let him touch and explore my body 
whenever he wanted for a week, then a month, then a year! 
 He had laughed and said he could arrange to do
that anyway.  Didn't I remember the suntan lotion? 
 Finally, I thought about something my mind had been avoiding all day.
 
The hall had darkened the next time he appeared.  Skipping the preliminaries,
 I came right to the point.  "Paddle my sore, red ass, as hard as you want,
 as much as you want, and I'll do for you what Lucy did for my uncle this morning."
 
"What was that?"
 
"She had some of her clothes off," Evans shrugged, "and was kneeling in front of him 
with his... his m-m-man-thing in her mouth."
 
"You mean she was sucking his cock?  Then say it! or I'm leaving."
 
"If you'll beat me with the paddle, I'll s-s-suck your c-c-cock."
  I don't think I had ever heard that expression before,
 but its very sound was dirtier than anything I'd ever said.
 
"More than once, I hope.  It sounds as if you need practice."
 
He wouldn't let up!  Tears of frustration filled my eyes. 
 "I don't know how, but I'll try to learn.  I'll do it all you want for a..." 
I knew it couldn't be just one day.  A week came to mind, but it was dusk and if he said no,
 I didn't want to live through
tomorrow.  "... for a month."
 
He paused, as if considering.  I began weeping in earnest.
 
"I guess that's a good enough bargain."  He smiled. 
 "You see? I like lots of things.  Most of them involve a female doing something
 that she doesn't want to do.  You're crying because you're going to have my big, 
hard cock in your mouth for a month.  And you're going to do that because
 otherwise I won't agree to beat you horribly with this paddle.  This is something I really like."
  He picked up the paddle and waved it as if it were a conductor's baton.
 
As he moved behind me, I realized that Evans was much bigger and more muscled than my uncle,
 who had hit me harder than anyone so far.  
My thought was interrupted by the most intense pain I had ever felt.
  My body bent like a bow, almost pulling my arms out of their sockets 
and wrenching me forward so that my toes scrabbled to keep a purchase on the front of the stools. 
 I rocked back, a soundless scream echoing in my head.
 
He waited as I squawked the 'thank you' out of my paralyzed throat,
 then obeyed my forced plea, hitting me even harder, 
and I was suddenly swinging helplessly out into the air. 
 My hands automatically reached up to grasp the ropes and take my weight off of my wrists.
  As I swung back, my feet missed the stools, but it mattered not.
  Evans didn't wait for the begging words, he hit me again just as my body swung back to vertical.
 
"Keep your legs spread!"  he commanded as my brain exploded with so much agony that I hoped for death. 
 For some reason, however, I obeyed, lifting my legs and spreading them with knees bent 
so that I looked like a pale chimpanzee swinging from a limb.  
From then on I had no chance of regaining my footing.
 
I have no memory of what happened after about the sixth stroke. 
 I was swinging from the rope while he pounded my butt rhythmically 
every time it swung back toward him.  My uncle says that when he came upon the scene
 I was still mumbling "Thank you, Sir. Please paddle me harder."  
My legs were still lifted and splayed.  My head, however, was totally lifeless, 
lolling downward, and bouncing as I swung.  I appeared unconscious.
 
"That's enough, Evans.  Kindly help me take her down." 
 Those words of Uncle  William were the first I remember after the beating. 
 I felt the rope loosen and his arms about me holding me to his chest.  
He carried me gently to my room and sat on the bed with me on my stomach over his lap.
 
"S-s-spank me, Uncle.  I've been a bad girl.  Please."
 
"No, that's all over.  Here's your Aunt with some lotion."  He stroked my hair.
 
Both of them very delicately massaged my battered, throbbing buttocks 
while making soothing noises to calm me.  As I became relaxed, 
they expanded their massage to my sexual regions,
 continuing slowly and softly as my uncle spoke.
 
"You won't be doing much sitting at your party, but we'll think of some excuse for you.
  You were a very strong young lady up there.  If I had done the same thing to Evans, 
he would have broken down within two hours. He's a coward, Hillary,
 and you have to learn to deal with him yourself."
 
"I have to... I've got to t-t-take him in my m-m-mouth for a month."
 My eyes again filled with tears.
 
"You made that bargain.  You'll have to honor it.  
I wish you had wanted to do that with me before you do it with him. 
 It's an act of love as well as one of submission."
 
My mind returned to full function.  I loved my uncle, 
but had agreed to be the sex toy of that disgusting butler. 
 "Please, let me do you... let me suck your cock, UncleWilliam." 
 I tried to push away from his lap, even as Aunt Dierdre was plucking my clitoris.  
My hand went to his zipper.
 
"No, no, little one.  Let us soothe you first.  
Then nap a bit and I'll come back with some food.  
Then you can have my cock for dessert.  It shoots cream, you know."
 
I resumed my position, but spread my legs even further apart.  
The hands resumed their soft caresses.  Aunt Dierdre was also using her tongue. 
It roamed my painful bruises, then slid down into my rear crevice and traveled down, down. 
 I was aroused, but became languid, cradling my head on my arms and closing my eyes.
  The tongue finally reached my labia, and nibbled softly as four hands continued their work.
  Slowly, my whole pelvis seemed to swell with voluptuousness, 
and soft waves of pleasure moved out, encompassing my entire body.  
There was nothing sharp or climactic, just pure sensuality. 
 The waves ebbed slowly, relaxing me more and more.
 
I slept.
 
I awoke to my uncle kissing me on my neck and tickling my pussy. 
 I squirmed away, however, when I became aware of the smell of hot food.
 
He had brought it on a platter, and the cook must have felt guilty over paddling 
and pinching me, because the meal had everything I liked.  
I rose quickly from my prone position on the bed to a sitting one on its edge-- 
for exactly one second.  The pain from pressing my bottom 
even on the soft mattress was almost as bad as the paddling.  
I leapt up, squealing. Uncle William smiled a little sadly.
 
"I think you'd better stand and lean over with your elbows on the bed to eat,"
 he advised, "or would you like me to feed you?"
 
"That might be fun some other time, but right now I'm too hungry."
  I assumed the recommended position and dug in, scarcely stopping to breathe. 
 During all this I was quite content with my nudity, in fact I spread my legs wide as I ate, 
wordlessly inviting him to move behind me and look, or touch.
 
"You should be hungry.  No lunch or dinner, and now it's almost midnight. 

But before you try, the plates aren't edible!"
 
Within a few minutes, the plates were the only thing left.  But I hadn't been thinking only of food.
  "Sit over here, Uncle,"  I patted the bed.  As he moved, a little confused, I dropped to my knees.
  "I certainly still want dessert."
 
He eyed me, as if to say, 'really?'  I became quite busy, however, undoing his belt and trousers. 
 I slid them down, then took off his shoes and socks so I could remove the pants 
and his underwear completely.  His manhood stood up proudly, and LARGE. 
 I began to wonder how the maid got him into her mouth, and I was a tiny girl compared to her!
 
"Why were Lucy's titties bare, Uncle?" I queried as my hands began exploring his staff
 and the gonads beneath it.
 
"Aaahhh." Obviously my hands were doing something right. 
 "I like to rub the end of my cock into a woman's breasts before she sucks me."
 
Well, that sounded like fun, so I did it, asking questions the whole time. 

Then, my nipples erect and shining with his fluid, I tried to use my
mouth on him.  Eventually I got the corona, then about three inches of
his long penis, into my mouth.   I learned to suck, and swirl around
my tongue, and to move up and down the length of his cock with my
mouth and hands, faster and faster as his breathing became more and
more labored. Suddenly I tasted Uncle William's sweet cream, but not a
dainty dollop, a veritable quart!
 
After he had dressed, I teasingly licked my lips and asked:  
"May I ask for more helpings of that whenever I want, 
or is there some rule that I must await your inclination in silence?"
 
"We'll make a rule that if you fall to your knees in front of a man, 
you are expressing a willingness to suck his cock, there and then.
  But ladies do not use vulgarities in their speech.  Now go to sleep.  
You will have a very busy day tomorrow, and the best way to allow those 
bruises to heal is rest."
 
He extinguished the light as I wriggled under the blankets.  I slept again.
 
When I awoke, the light was bright through the window.  As I turned my head
groggily, I beheld Johnny, the stable boy, standing naked in the cente of 
the room.  His head was lowered in anger or embarrassment or both, his face 
almost as red as the pretty bow tied delightfully on his curving, half-hard 
cock.
 
My present had arrived.
