Crumbling Memories Ch. 02

Chapter 2: Discipline... and cats

On the road, the hum of the engine and the steady rhythm of tires against the pavement are my only company. I've always found it strange, the effect driving has on me. It doesn't matter how well-rested I am, a short stint behind the wheel, or even just a bus ride, and I feel a fatigue settle in my bones. An exhaustion not just of the body, but of the mind and spirit, that takes the vibrancy out of life. Oddly enough, airplanes or subways don't have the same impact. It's as though only the stretch of road, the vast expanse of earth that moves under me, drains the energy from my very core.

Now, behind the wheel of our car, the road ahead seems to stretch endlessly. Beside me, Vicky is silent, her gaze fixed somewhere beyond the windshield, as though she's trying to perceive what's invisible to the naked eye. I yearn to break the silence, to engage her in conversation, but the fear of her indifference holds me back. There's nothing worse than the anxious pause after an unanswered question, the weight of a one-sided conversation. So, I let the silence be, let it fill the space between us. It's a safe, if not comfortable, haven.

My eyes drift over to a group of girls in school uniforms waiting for a bus. The sight of them triggers a memory, a playful echo from our shared past. It takes me back to a time when our power dynamics had a different flavor, a mix of innocent mischief and deep exploration. It was during a time of great personal pain for me, a time when the world was a grey and lifeless place, and the light of my life, my mother, had been taken away. I was only 21 then, an age when life should have been a riot of colors, but for me, it was a period of mourning.

***

As we start our drive towards my childhood home, the cab of Vicky's truck feels comfortably warm and familiar. The scent of worn leather and Vicky's signature earthy perfume linger in the air, their potent familiarity reassuring amidst the apprehension bubbling within me.

"I need you to talk to me, Lisa," Vicky says, her gaze fixed on the road. The early evening sunlight paints her face in an orange hue, the soft light casting a glow around her, like a halo. At 37, she looks incredibly vibrant, her eyes, as bewitching as ever, glimmer with calm assertiveness.

"How are you feeling, darling?" she asks, her voice gentle but commanding, the Mistress in her coming forth. She reaches out, her hand finding mine resting on the middle console, and gives it a comforting squeeze. The contact is grounding, a solid reminder of our shared history and the bond that has deepened over the past two years.

"I..." I begin, my throat feeling dry. I want to tell her everything, to pour out the sadness that is seeping into every corner of my being. But I hold back, biting my lower lip to distract myself from the emotional whirlpool. "I'm okay, Vicky," I say eventually, the words sounding more to convince myself than her.

A small smile dances on Vicky's lips. She squeezes my hand again, her thumb tracing comforting circles over the back of my hand. "My little star, you know there's no need to put up a brave face for me," she says, her voice tender yet firm. "Remember, honesty is not optional for my baby girl. It's a requirement."

Her words, tinged with dominance, resonate within me, the familiar command triggering an automatic response of obedience, something that has been ingrained in me over the course of our relationship. And yet, I stay silent, the reason for my hesitation to move in with her buried deep within me, too raw and fresh to voice out.

The drive continues in silence, each of us lost in our thoughts. The road ahead is clear, the street lights starting to flicker on as the dusk settles, their warm glow a stark contrast to the icy knot of unease in my stomach. The looming task of sorting through my belongings, a stark reminder of my mother's absence, feels like a weight pressing down on my chest. But I know I have to face it, and with Vicky by my side, it feels marginally bearable.

The moment Vicky pulls up to the curb, a dull, heavy feeling settles over me. My childhood home stands there, quiet and imposing, a too-loud reminder of the life I'm leaving behind. For a moment, I hesitate, almost reluctant to step out of the car.

Vicky must sense my unease, because she turns to me, her gaze softening. "Do you want me to come with you, sweetheart?"

I nod, needing her steadying presence more than ever. I can feel the questions lingering on the edge of Vicky's lips, the curiosity about why I'm so keen on avoiding my father, but she holds back, respecting my need for privacy. Her understanding only makes me feel more grateful for her.

Hand in hand, we approach the front door. I feel a pang of sorrow as I glance at the once-familiar facade, the peeling paint, and the slightly overgrown garden a reflection of the home's neglect after my mother's passing. As we step inside, we tiptoe around the house, careful not to alert my father of our presence.

It isn't until we reach my old room that the emotions start to well up. My fingers trace the posters on the wall, remnants of a childhood long past. But this room is no longer a refuge, it has become a memory vault, each corner, each object a trigger for a painful memory.

While I gather clothes, I can feel Vicky's watchful eyes on me. She picks up an old photo from my bedside table, studying it for a moment before placing it back down gently.

"Do you still have any of your old school uniforms?" She asks out of the blue, her attempt at lightening the mood, a soothing balm on my raw nerves.

I feel a small smile tug at the corner of my lips. Leave it to Vicky to shift the focus from something as morose as collecting memories to something as fun as role-playing. "I think I still have a few pieces lying around," I tell her, my voice a little steadier than before.

We spend the next few minutes digging out the remnants of my school years, laughing softly at the sight of the dated pleated skirts and ribboned blouses. Once we have a satisfactory collection, we pack them along with some of my clothes, leaving the room as quietly as we have entered.

As we leave the house, the fading evening light casts long, eerie shadows on the path, making the house look even more ghostly than before. But with Vicky by my side, the darkness seems a little less daunting. After all, I'm returning to a home that is filled with warmth, love, and a chubby, demanding cat. The thought alone is enough to ease some of the heaviness in my heart.

We barely close the door behind us when Vicky turns to me, her eyes flashing with a mischievous glint that immediately has my heart pounding against my chest. "Off you go, love," she commands, a devilish grin tugging at her lips as she gestures towards the bathroom. "Go change into that little school uniform of yours. And remember, you need to knock when you're ready."

With that, she spins around, heading towards the living room where she probably sprawls herself across the plush couch, waiting for me. Her presence fills the apartment, and I can almost taste the anticipation in the air.

In the solitude of the bathroom, I strip off my casual clothes, the soft fabric slipping off my skin to reveal the vulnerable flesh underneath. I pull the school uniform from the bag, running my fingers over the familiar fabric, worn thin with years of use. The pleated skirt is short, much shorter than I remember, and the blouse is thin, almost see-through. I hesitate for a moment, then slip into the outfit, the soft fabric clinging to my skin in a way that has heat pooling in my lower belly.

In front of the mirror, the sight of my barely covered body in the girlish uniform sparks a thrill in me. My hair, longer now than it was during my school years, cascades down my back, adding to the innocent yet seductive image reflected back at me. Vicky is an artist, and I am her canvas, painted in shades of submission and desire.

Taking a deep breath, I step out of the bathroom, the cool air of the apartment causing goosebumps to prick at my skin. I can hear the soft hum of the TV from the living room, and Bilbo's rhythmic purring as he curls up next to Vicky. But the cat is the least of my concerns. What matters is Vicky, and the game we are about to play.

With my heart hammering in my chest, I approach the living room, knock softly on the open door, and wait for my Mistress to invite me in. The anticipation is a tangible force, wrapping around me, pulling me under. But beneath it all is an undercurrent of excitement, a rush of adrenaline that sets my nerves on fire. Tonight, I am not Lisa, the grieving daughter. I am a naughty schoolgirl, ready to be taught a lesson I won't forget. This isn't about trying to replace my mom or reliving some strange family fantasy -- it's about stepping into a different persona, one that allows me a brief respite from my grief.

"Enter," Vicky's commanding voice echoes, the authoritative tone sending a shiver of anticipation down my spine. I push the door open, stepping inside the dimly lit living room. Vicky is lounging on the couch, the flickering light from the TV painting a perfect silhouette of her figure. She's striking, powerful, nothing like my mother -- and I find comfort in that difference.

She eyes me up and down, a predatory smirk dancing on her lips. "Well, well," she coos, "Look what we have here. My naughty little girl... Your grades have been slipping lately, haven't they?" Her voice, stern and accusatory, holds a dangerous edge, causing my heart to flutter in my chest.

I lower my gaze, putting on a perfect display of the embarrassed schoolgirl. "I'm sorry, Mommy," I mumble, playing into the role. "I'll try harder next time."

Her dark laughter fills the room. "Oh, I'm sure you will." She pats the space next to her on the couch. "Come here."

I obey, settling onto the designated spot. Bilbo gives a discontented meow from the corner, displeased at being displaced. We both giggle at his indignation, momentarily breaking character.

Her hand is suddenly on my knee, creeping up my thigh. "Look at you," she growls, her voice low and charged with dominance, "Dressed up like a slutty schoolgirl. Do you think this is how you talk to your Mommy? Getting all wet in your little panties?" She leans in, her hot breath fanning over my ear, her fingers sneaking under the skirt to brush against my cotton panties. "I can smell your arousal from here."

My breath hitches at her words. Caught between shame and excitement, I feel my pussy throb in response, dampening the thin fabric of my panties. With every word she speaks, every slight touch, I drown in the intoxicating pleasure she effortlessly weaves around me.

"Mommy..." I breathe out, my hips involuntarily rolling to press my swollen clit against her firm knee. A moan slips past my lips as I anticipate what is to come next. I'm lost in the heady cocktail of humiliation and arousal, aching for the spanking I know I deserve. The wait is deliciously tormenting, the anticipation setting my nerves ablaze. As Vicky's hand creeps up my skirt, the reality of the upcoming punishment makes my body shiver in anticipation.

"Over my knee, young lady," Vicky commands, tapping her thigh for emphasis. "I think it's time you learnt a lesson."

Bilbo meows in protest again as I shift, obediently bending over Vicky's knee, my backside presented for punishment. She pulls up my skirt and pulls my panties aside, exposing my soaked cunt to the cool air of the room. She runs her fingers down the curve of my ass, causing me to shiver in anticipation.

"Count," she orders, landing the first smack on my bare ass. The stinging pain sends a shockwave of pleasure coursing through my body.

"One..." I gasp out, my hips twitching as the pain mingles with arousal. Her fingers run over the reddening skin, tracing the handprint she's left behind. She pauses, her fingers dipping lower to touch my dripping slit, making me squirm in embarrassment. Her thumb brushes my swollen clit, causing me to cry out.

"What a slutty little whore," she chuckles, adding another spank that echoes around the room. "Moaning like that over a little spanking. Count," she orders again, her hand landing on my bottom with a slap that resounds in the room.

"Two..." I moan out, my hips pressing into her knee, my pussy grinding on her denim-clad thigh, the pleasure mingling with the pain as the sting of the slap spreads warmth across my skin. Her fingers are busy rolling and pinching my hard nipples, adding to the onslaught of sensations. She traces the red imprint of her hand on my ass before delivering the next one.

"Three..." I gasp out as she brings her hand down again, the sharp sting instantly dissolving into a warm, throbbing sensation. She slides her fingers between my thighs, teasing my throbbing clit before moving on to the next punishment.

"Four, ("meow!") five..." I whimper, the slaps coming in rapid succession, the shocks of pain and pleasure overwhelming my senses. I can feel my pussy clenching with arousal, the wetness of my excitement spreading on her thigh.

"Six..." The sharp sting of her slap spreads through me and my hips press harder into her knee, grinding against the rough fabric of her jeans. The sting from her hand is instantly replaced by the throbbing heat of my arousal.

"Seven, eight..." The next spanks follow closely on each other, each one pushing me closer to the edge. The room is filled with the sounds of her hand against my skin, my moans and Bilbo's meowing, creating a symphony of decadent pleasure.

"Nine..." I gasp out, my body convulsing, each slap pushing me closer to the edge. The humiliation, the spanks, her teasing fingers on my nipples and clit -- it all drives me to the point of madness.

"Ten..." I whimper out, my body convulsing as I come hard on her knee, my pussy clenching and spasming in an orgasm that is as unexpected as it is intense. My juices coat her thigh, the sticky evidence of my climax only adding to my mortification.

"There, there," she coos, her tone back to being soft and gentle as she rubs soothing circles on my red, sore ass. "My good girl... You took your punishment so well."

Panting and trembling, I find myself aflame with a burning, throbbing arousal. Vicky smirks at me in satisfaction before pulling away, leaving me disoriented and aching for her touch.

"Get on the bed, slut," Vicky commands, her voice a low, husky purr that sends shivers down my spine. Dazed and buzzing with desire, I comply, my shaky legs carrying me towards the bed. Her eyes never leave me as I crawl onto the soft mattress, settling down onto my back as I await her next command.

"Now, spread those legs wide, slut," she orders. Obeying, I spread my legs wide open, my bare, wet pussy exposed to her hungry gaze. Her lips curl into a wicked smirk, and my heart skips a beat. I know that the real fun is just about to begin.

She crawls over me, her eyes sparkling with a mischievous gleam. I am splayed beneath her on the bed, my heart pounding in my chest. Her hand comes up, rough and firm, gripping my cheeks tightly, forcing me to meet her gaze.

Her eyes search mine, full of wicked intent, her thumb pressing into the side of my mouth. Then, without asking, she descends, her lips crashing against mine in a passionate, possessive kiss.

One hand remains in my hair, holding me in place as she kisses me, while her other hand descends, tracing the soaked folds of my pussy. Her fingers, not looking, find their way to my dripping core, eliciting a moan from my lips into our fervid kiss.

She pulls away from our kiss, her eyes locked onto mine. I can feel her hot breath mingling with mine, her nose touching the tip of mine. Then, without warning, her hand comes down on my pussy with a resounding smack. I wince at the sudden pain and pleasure, my eyes squeezing shut.

But her hand is there again, soothing, her fingers moving in slow circles over my throbbing clit. The pain ebbs away under her gentle ministrations, but just as I begin to relax, her hand comes down again with a loud smack that has my body jolting in surprise and delight.

"Like that, baby?" she whispers, her eyes never leaving mine. "You like being treated like an object?"

"Yes..." I whimper, my arousal only growing.

Suddenly, her grip on my face releases and her hand returns to my pussy, gently caressing the slick folds. Her other hand brushes my hair back, her lips meeting mine in a soft, tender kiss.

"You're my little girl, aren't you? You want me to be gentle with you too, right?" she murmurs against my lips.

Her words are gentle, but the wicked gleam in her eyes doesn't diminish. As she continues to stroke my pussy, I brace myself for the inevitable. I know it's coming but not when.

When her hand smacks down on my pussy again, I let out a soft cry, my body jerking at the unexpected jolt of pain and pleasure. Her hand grips my pussy, squeezing, her fingers clumsily teasing my slick folds before she is kissing me again, possessively claiming my mouth as hers.

Two of her fingers push into me, and I gasp into her mouth. She begins to fuck me with her fingers, her gaze locked onto mine. Her other hand finds my neck, not choking, but applying just enough pressure to heighten the sensations of her bold fingers inside me.

"Yes... yes, Mommy..." I gasp, my body writhing beneath her.

Her grip on my neck releases, and I feel her hand make contact with my cheek in a light slap. "Who gave you permission to speak, slut?" she growls, her fingers relentlessly thrusting inside me.

"Who are you? Tell me," she demands, her fingers thrusting into me unrelentingly.

"Your girl... your sunshine..." I whimper, my hips moving in rhythm with her fingers.

Her fingers don't still, relentlessly pumping into me as she watches me with predatory eyes. Her hand is still on my cheek, the skin burning from the fresh slap.

"Your bitch... your obedient slut... I'm going to cum..." I gasp, my body quivering under her.

"Good girl!" she praises, her mouth descending onto mine, her tongue invading my mouth, exploring every corner.

"Only if Mommy allows it..." I manage to get out, my words muffled by her mouth.

Her fingers inside me quicken, pumping in and out at an intense pace. Faster. And faster. Then she breaks our kiss and leans back slightly, her eyes squinting at me as she orders, "Cum, girl. Cum for your Mommy."

"Yes... Yes..." I moan, my body responding to her command.

Her fingers slosh in my overflowing pussy, the wet sounds audible even over my loud moans. "Yes..."

"Yes, baby... Good girl..." she murmurs, her lips finding mine again, her tongue twining with mine even as her fingers keep working my trembling cunt. I can tell she doesn't care if it hurts, she just keeps going.

"It's... it's good... I'm good..." I manage to gasp out, my body convulsing under her.

She kisses me like I'm her good girl. Her fingers inside me slow down. But she doesn't stop kissing me. Her fingers withdraw from my throbbing pussy, leaving a wet trail as they settle on my sensitive skin, their touch soothing.

Once the throbbing and spasming of my lower body begin to subside, Vicky's fingers gently trace over the sensitive skin of my inner thighs. The sensation is a soothing balm to the rawness left by her intense play. She shifts on the bed, moving up to be level with my face, our bodies now lying side by side.

She places a gentle kiss on my forehead, her fingers now softly brushing the hair away from my sweaty forehead. I open my eyes to see her studying me, her own eyes softened with affection and a hint of pride. Her thumb gently caresses my cheek, the action almost absent-minded, as if she's just reveling in the feel of me under her.

"How are you feeling, baby?" she asks, her voice softer than I've heard it in the last hour.