Pedo Stories

Momentum 

“


Cruelty, like every other vice, requires no motive outside of 
itself; it only requires opportunity.


” 
George Eliot

Melanie sat with her back against the headboard of the bed, stockinged legs opened wide, her breasts held high and full by the kind of bra Daniel approved of very much and the thick, heavy collar she had bought at his instruction buckled tightly around her neck. She looked down her body to the laptop, sat on a small table at the foot of the bed, the ever-present webcam regarding her like an impartial eye.

‘How wet are you for me, slave?’ his voice purred with sensuous knowing, the wireless headphones again giving that delicious sensation that he was speaking from the very centre of her mind.

Melanie stroked two fingers between her smooth shaven pussy lips. She gave a slight shudder at her own touch, the combination of anticipation and fear again putting her mind and body on edge before anything had even begun. Her cunt seemed to throb and pulse under her light touch and she wasn’t so much wet as she was soaked. Two things occurred to Melanie as she marvelled at her own level of arousal.

The first was that not so long ago the idea of being able to get into such a hopelessly, helplessly state of pure need, a need that saturated her mentally, physically and emotionally would have seemed ridiculous, laughable even.

The second was that even if she had been capable of such responses of her own volition, if she had been able to take her own arousal and turn it into something that felt more like a ravenous beast than simple lusting desire, the physical manifestation of it would have been so embarrassing, so inconvenient, the joy and anticipation would have become a dreaded burden. Why? Because of the mess, the resulting wet patch that had long moved past ‘puddle’ and sometimes seemed to warrant the name ‘flood’. She would have fretted about damaging the mattress, about stains and God knew what else. Like many other things that now inflamed her senses, she would have been ashamed and guilty at her responses and so corked them and corked them quickly.

But Daniel had addressed this in a way she would never have been able to face the humiliation of by having her put a mattress protector on the bed. Once she had adjusted to the knowledge her physical responses had made her into some kind of sexual incontinent, the freedom it granted her had only served to increase those responses.

She smiled as these thoughts flashed through her head in a few seconds.

‘I’m soaked, master,’ Melanie replied in a dreamy, wondering voice. ‘Just… soaked.’

‘How has Becky been behaving?’ he asked.

‘Much better since I began spanking her for every little thing she does wrong. Sometimes I go to town, sometimes just a slap or two, but she’s much more attentive now. Much more... focused.’

‘That’s good,’ Daniel whispered in her ear as Melanie looked into the camera with eyes full of dull, blunt passion.

There was a few seconds silence that he allowed to stretch out until, finally, Melanie let go of another inhibition.

 ‘What shall we do with her next?’ Melanie she asked, almost blurted.

‘Go shopping,’ had been his simple reply and they had talked. And the more they talked, the wetter Melanie became.

Of course, that had been back home, in the sanctuary that her bedroom had become, the place where long held fantasies were starting to have their time in the sun after a lifetime of being buried deep within her. And there seemed to be an awful lot of them, too.

But now, out and about in the brightly lit halls of a fairly distant shopping centre, Becky’s hand held tightly in her own, the arousal she’d felt at what they’d discussed hadn’t so much faded as evaporated.

Part of her had expected someone to look at Becky, see the slight smudges under her eyes, her timid and docile manner and the attentive, nervous focus writ large on her face and know what caused it. Melanie expected people to look at her with suspicious eyes, perhaps even knowingly suspicious eyes. Perhaps they would study her behaviour with Becky and read between the lines somehow, see the truth even as she self-consciously tried to study her own actions and gestures so as to hide any signs of that truth.

It had made her feel almost nauseous, bringing her out in a cold and clammy sweat that had persisted until she realised why she was holding Becky’s hand so tightly.

Melanie was a single mother and, as most single mothers would tell you, when you’re the only set of eyes watching the world your children are in, you watch like a hawk. Why? Because you never know when someone might whisk them away, might make them vanish never to be seen again. And this could happen anywhere, at any time and the truth was you kept a tight hold because you just couldn’t tell who might want to take them and hurt them and shred their innocence like so much wrapping paper.

And why couldn’t you tell? Because if you could tell, then there would be no danger, would there? You’d see them coming a mile off, or maybe smell them or maybe just sense them. But you couldn’t do that because, no, you couldn’t tell; these people, who stole and abused innocence and trust, looked just like everyone else.

One of them looked just like Melanie, after all.

And after she had made that connection, all the nerves and anxiety had fell away like smoke in a breeze. What was left to any that might look was a mother and her young daughter going shopping and if they saw the girls hand being so firmly gripped by that mother then they would assume she was keeping her safe.

The truth, though, was that Melanie liked holding on to her new, favourite plaything.

‘Unbelievable,’ Melanie muttered as she fingered the cheap fabric of a pink girls top that proudly said ‘PORN-STAR’ in big, glittering letters across the front. Next to it, the other half of the set, was a high, tight pair of shorts with a belt that echoed the sentiment in equally sparkly letters. Becky looked at them in a similarly wide-eyed ‘are you kidding’ way as her mother and Melanie nudged her playfully. Becky nudged back and smiled a little unsurely.

‘Not your style?’

‘Uh-uh,’ Becky replied.

‘What about this?’ Melanie asked and held out a short, remarkably restrained pleated skirt that looked like a cross between a girls night out skirt and a school uniform skirt.

Becky made a face, shook her head.

‘What’s wrong with it?’ Melanie asked but Becky just shrugged.

‘He’d like to see you in it, I think,’ Melanie said thoughtfully. ‘I think I would, too.’ She found the right size and put it in her basket.

Becky returned her gaze to the floor, smile gone, playfulness squashed and Melanie felt a brief flush of pleasure.

‘What do you think of these?’ Melanie asked Becky. A few more things had gone in the basket since and now they were in the underwear section.

Becky eyed the short, silky nightie with spaghetti straps and a hemline that came down to mid-thigh and, again, just shrugged. Melanie crouched down.

‘I’m going to be throwing out a lot of your wardrobe, Becky,’ Melanie told her after looking round to see no one was near, though she spoke in a hushed voice anyway. ‘I’ve never dressed you very nicely, or me for that matter, but that’s going to change. Do you understand?’

Becky nodded, wide-eyed, clearly nervous. Melanie felt the heat between her thighs mounting and mounting. She ached for her toy, to plunge it in and out with demented fervour, spraying her juice over Becky’s face and body. She bit the image back, choked it down.

‘It’s... important... to me, and Daniel as well, that you start to act and behave the way a good little girl should and how you look goes a long way towards making that happen. Yes?’

Again there was that hesitant, bright eyed and attentive, nod and this time Melanie’s head swam with the sudden image of those bright eyes peering up at her from between Melanie’s legs where mouth and fingers and tongue and lips worked with that same attentiveness.

The heat became a dull, incessant throb and she took a shaky breath, tried to control herself.

‘Becky, I’d... prefer it if you... helped. If you had an... opinion on some of this,’ and she flicked the nightie. ‘It would make it easier. It would make me happier, too. Do you want to make me happy?’

Another nod, blue eyes shining.

Then maybe you’d like to eat mommy’s cunt for her, daddy watching and proud at how his two slaves are progressing. Would you like that? Would you do that to make me happy?

And the thoughts tumbled through her head before ending with one that had the clear ring of truth to it.

Because you’re going to, Becky, and soon, I think. I hope. Even if I don’t make it happen, I think he’s going to.

She shuddered with restrained pleasure at the thought.

‘You’re hurting me, mommy,’ Becky said in a small voice and Melanie saw that the fingers she was holding onto Becky’s arm with had dug deep into the child’s flesh as she had enjoyed the thoughts and images of Becky serving her.

‘Sorry,’ she said, but she wasn’t. ‘So... shall we get you one of these?’ Melanie asked, returning to the short, strappy nightie.

There was a short pause and then Becky nodded. ‘Yes, please, mommy,’ she replied and the words had a querulous upturn at the end as if she were asking a question instead of stating a fact.

Melanie smiled at the obvious uncertainty her daughter showed. ‘Good girl. I think we should, too,’ and into the basket it went.

In one of the homewares shops, Melanie held up a piece of card that had two rows of spring-loaded, brightly coloured plastic pegs attached. She took one of the pegs off and squeezed it open and shut thoughtfully.

‘Hold out your finger,’ Melanie whispered and, a little reluctantly, Becky did so. ‘Don’t cry out,’ her mother warned and then put one of the pegs over the fingernail. It bit down with almost savage strength and Becky’s eyes went wide with the pain, a low hiss sounding behind suddenly gritted teeth.

‘Good girl,’ Melanie said with a grin and put the pegs in the basket.

In the changing rooms of one of the smaller, cheaper shops, Melanie had Becky strip naked, something the girl didn’t want to do, and then she sat across from her daughter and just looked and thrilled to what she saw. At one point she raised the pointed toe of her shoe between her daughter’s legs and pushed gently. Becky shifted on her feet at the pressure, her face a picture of confused discomfort. Before the left, Melanie took one of the cheap, slutty lipsticks she’d bought and wrote ‘Good Little Cunt’ on Becky’s chest.

Then she held up her phone and took a picture before removing the lipstick with a wet wipe and allowing Becky to get dressed again. By the time they left the shop, Melanie was almost visibly shivering with a need that kept demanding more and more and more from her.

‘Lingerie for little sluts,’ Melanie said softly to herself, standing in a fancy dress shop that was going out of business. Several types of hold-up stockings and tights, leotards, short little dresses, slutty blouses and skirts and more besides were all piled on the counter. She even threw in a few of the more realistic wigs and a couple of the glamorous kiddy-sized high heels.

‘She likes dressing up, eh?’ the professionally interested man behind the counter asked.

Melanie nodded. ‘All her friends, too. They’re always going to fancy dress parties and the like,’ she replied and the lie slipped easily from her tongue.

The man nodded and bagged it all.

‘Cheaper than hiring it from a shop like this, eh?’ he commented ruefully.

Melanie paid cash.

She took Becky into one of the disabled toilets and again had her strip and this time Melanie herself slid out of her panties, hiked up her skirt, sat on the toilet and masturbated with Becky knelt down in front of her, a position Becky took with barely a pause and not a hint of a smile, which Melanie found pleasing.

She didn’t come; didn’t want to. The pleasure, that ever growing sense of barely restrained need, was too delicious to waste; it was pushing her along in her master’s absence and the thrill of what she was doing made her feel more alive than ever.

She had Becky dress in the short, pleated skirt they’d bought earlier and when they left the room and went back into the shopping centre, neither wore underwear, though only one of them enjoyed the fact.

They picked up a few more things from the last shop they went into, sexy, strappy mesh panties that had no right to come in child sizes but did anyway. Melanie also picked up a couple of the smallest bras she could find planning to adjust them to fit Becky later.

After packing into the car, Melanie sat Becky in the passenger seat and said something she’d been building up to all day.

‘You don’t close your legs all the way home, Becky, do you understand?’

Becky looked up her with wide, alarmed eyes. ‘Why?’

‘You know why; I want to touch you there and you’re going to let me, aren’t you?’

Becky seemed to search for words, to try and make sense of this but eventually, with her face briefly twisting in silent, powerless embarrassment, she looked away out of the window and opened her legs wide.

‘Good girl,’ Melanie said. ‘Stay that way.’

She put the automatic transmission in gear and then, almost nonchalantly, rested her hand between the parted thighs of her little girl. Her palm lay against the hot, moist pussy there and Melanie sucked in a small, thrilled breath.

‘God that feels good,’ she breathed, gently stroking her fingers around and between the lips of her daughter’s sex.

‘Becky, you’re wet,’ Melanie whispered in a marvelling voice. ‘Good girl, Becky, good little slut for mommy,’ and her fingers pushed a little further in causing the little girl to shift and twist a little in her seat and a give a low, strained mewl of protest, but she didn’t close her legs and stayed looking out of her window.

As they left the underground car park, the half-light allowed Melanie to catch her daughter’s reflection in the window glass. She was crying and looked deeply, deeply disturbed.

Melanie felt a spasm of pleasure deep within her and drove home smiling as, for the first time, she explored her daughter as she had always ached to.

Wait ‘til I get you home, young lady, she thought to herself and grinned.

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