Suddenly, the grandfather clock in Chase's dining room struck the hour. Still reading, Hannah didn't hear the low, deep ring of the clock's chime. "This agreement may serve as a means to extend our relationship, in the spirit of loving and consensual dominance and submission, with the purpose of maintaining personal identity, advancing the exploration and dynamitization of our intimacy and promoting one another's health, trust and contentment."
"On your pretty little feet slave." Said Chase as she pushed back her chair, "Let's have you try this on."
Setting her pillow and tablet aside, Hannah rose and presented herself to her mistress. Chase regarded her slave coolly. Hannah looked away; her gaze crossing to the manacle on Chase's right wrist, and then to the thin coil of chain upon the far left corner of the sowing table.
"The play room: have you cleaned it to my specifications?"
"Yes Mistress."
"Step closer girl."
Hannah advanced a step. Chase leaned her face in close to her slave's mons, and drew deep breaths of it, taking in the scent of her sex as if it were that of a bakery's morning fresh bread.
"Take this dress." Chase Instructed; leaning back in her seat and extending the garment, "Go and put it on while I check your work in the play room."
Chase carefully rose from the chair.
"If I find even the slightest thing out of place, "Chase affirmed; holding Hannah by her chin, a blue fire of lust burning in her gaze, "You will be punished."
"Yes Mistress." Hannah answered.
As Chase left the room, Hannah held the costume before her. It was a little girl's bubble gum pink party dress, with puffy short sleeves, round collared bodice and a puffy skirt.
Chase had sized her slave two weeks earlier, and as she fit herself into the outfit, Hannah admired the handy work of her mistress. She felt the fabric, and guessed it to be non-stretch cotton. Examining the skirt, she noticed two layers of sewn-in underskirts, the middle layer comprised of netting and the inner most made of satin. Amazed at Chase's craftsmanship, Hannah marveled at the lace edging around the sleeve and skirt hems. Considering her lover's time, attention and expertise, a professional tailor's commission for such a dress would have been four hundred dollars or more.
Hannah moved to the standing mirror, and watched herself twirl in the dress. Then, after mocking her reflected visage with a raspberry, she raised her arms in a playful pirouette and giggled at the sight of the raised hem of the mini skirt and her exposed vulva. She had to decide who she would be in the little pink dress, and what she wanted to get out of the scene she was expected to wear it in. She glanced at her gleaming steel collar, and thought of her expanding kink identity: a humiliation loving, urine guzzling, panty soiling, and ass munching, submissive with a growing penchant for dealing out her own sadomasochistic punishment. With Chase, Hannah manufactured no pretense beyond the role playing in their scenes. Her kink was genuine, and anything she incorporated into it, as much as it was for Chase's benefit, fell in sync with her already quite fertile depravity.
"You're lucky." Chase announced as she stepped back into the room, "It's immaculate. You should be proud of yourself slave."
Hannah turned, bowed and made a curtsey. Chase, dressed in her silk robe, paused to regard Hannah in her pink dress.
"My my," she remarked, "Don't you look pretty."
Hannah turned back toward the mirror, and smiled at Chase's reflection. She began to twist her hips and fold an arm behind her back, in the attitude of a shy toddler. Then, looking down at her bare feet, Hannah used the toes of one to caress the toes of the other. Chase stepped closer, and her sub glanced up to see that her cheeks had flushed. Hannah bat her eyes then, realizing her own fingers creeping past her slave collar, toward her lips, until a thumb soon found its way into her mouth. Now more visibly aroused, her hard nipples casting long shadows across the blue silk of her robe, Chase took the sowing chair and set it behind her slave.
"Sit." She instructed, "When I come back, you may be free to speak as yourself."
Upon Chase's departure, Hannah removed her watch, and then tossed it to the sowing table. Her lover returned seconds later; a hair brush, comb and elastic hair bands in hand. Setting the comb and the bands on the sowing table, Chase stood behind her lover, and proceeded to brush her hair. Hannah looked on, still sucking at the thumb in her mouth.
"Hey; time out I said." Chase intoned through a smile, "You can get out of character."
"Hmm, I know." Said Hannah after removing her thumb, "I jus taught you wiked to meet your witto giwl, Baby Dool."
"Baby Doll?" Chase repeated as she switched her brush for the comb, "Is that your name?"
"Yeah. Do you wike it?"
"I do. In fact, honey; she's making me very very horny all over again."
Hannah looked away from Chase's reflected gaze, and sighed.
"Honey is the only food that will not rot." Hannah stated as she stared blankly into the mirror, "A jar of honey may remain edible for over 3000 years."
"I knew that." Said Chase as she took her time combing Hannah's hair.
"You did not."
"I did too."
Hannah met Chase's playful eyes, and gave her a raspberry. A comfortable silence passed for a time; Chase enjoying the texture and length of her lover's hair, and Hannah contemplating the mysteries behind her groomer's thoughtful blue eyes. Handle with care, taking a share, hypnotic stare, play truth or dare-
"Can you tell me about the altar downstairs," Hannah asked her expression suddenly serious, "Why Mary is its centerpiece?"
Chase paused, met Hannah's reflected gaze and sighed.
"When I was a little girl," she began, "I went to Saint Francis's Elementary school until the sixth grade. At the far west end of the main hallway of the second floor, stood what seemed like a very tall statue of the Virgin Mary. It might have even been six and a half feet tall, but I was little then, so just about everything seemed bigger than it really was. I used to stop and see her any chance I got. In fact, I used to get in trouble, because going to her meant I had to take the long way around when I had to bring something to the office or if I needed to use the bathroom."
Hannah watched her lover's hands as she gathered up the tresses covering the left back side of her head. Chase paused, reached behind her, and then returned with one of the hair bands.
"She was set before three tall windows," Chase continued, "And there never seemed to be enough light to really see her with. Yet, under the shadows cast by her veil and the folds of her robes, the gloom seemed to make her look so real, though I suppose it was a credit to the sculptor as well. But, this tall, majestic Mary seemed so real that I had to touch her. So I'd slowly reach out to her bare feet and her pretty toes, and I would stroke them, and I would feel happy that she was within my reach, in my little girl world, but I felt sad too; because she wasn't real. Then I'd see the snake's body coiled beneath her, and I don't remember if I understood at the time that it was supposed to represent the devil."
Though still listening, Hannah gazed sidelong and played with the lace hem of her dress.
"But then, I got older, and I studied and I learned that the image, the representative icon for Satan, sin and all things forbidden, had formerly been the visual symbol for the angels of certain eastern religions, and symbolic of a woman's fertility. As for the other, smaller, figures, and the candles; they are as much a tribute to the great women of antiquity as much as they are a means of adding to the mood; the sanctity as well as the sensuality of it."
Again, Chase paused to get a second hair band.
"The image of Mary," said Chase; gathering up the tresses on the high left side of Hannah's head, "The memory of her lingered in my mind for years, as I lived, studied and traveled. I learned about the power of women, the power in purity, motherhood and old age. The shrine is protection for my home as much as it is my fetish objectified; power, femininity, purity, miraculous fertility and sexuality. I celebrate and desire the virgin, the mother and the goddess. I admire and desire the sanctity of chaste saints as much as the holiness of temple prostitutes that were sacrosanct long before Mary and so many other women had to separate their feminine identities from their sexuality, and from the sanctuary between their legs."
As Chase secured Hannah's second pony tail, both women stared admiringly into the standing mirror.
"And the sadomasochism?" said Hannah, "You seem to be able to take a lot of pain. How and when had that become part of your sexual identity?"
Chase's fingers became suddenly still. Across a split second, Hannah saw the briefest shift in her lover's eyes; as if a great white shark had swum to the blue depth behind them and turned his dead black gaze on her before swimming away. Then, as a tiny tremor tingled across her shoulders, Hannah watched a smile creep into Chase's lips.
"Well;" Chase intoned as she resumed tying back Hannah's other pony, "That's another story for another time."
Hannah stuck a thumb back into her mouth, more for her own benefit than for Chase's.
"Now," Chase spoke with lustful finality, "What does my Baby Doll think about her hair?"
Hannah tilted her head this way and that, and from side to side, admiring the length and evenness of her two ponies.
"I think it's pwitty." She said; meeting her mistress's gaze, "And I think you vewey pwitty too; weally."
Hannah abruptly raised her knees to her chest, her bare feet riding the seat's edge, folded an arm around her legs, and then re-inserted a thumb into her mouth. Certain that her newly adopted position and attitude would kindle a new fire in her lover, Hannah leveled her innocent big brown eyes at Chase. Flushed, Chase slowly undid the knot of her robe's belt. Her belt loose, she then tugged the robe just enough so that the satin slowly fell down her shoulders and gathered around her elbows.
"Oh Mommy," Baby Doll gasped; marveling at the magnificent, pale golden lobes and their glorious symmetry, "What ah doze?"
"These are Mommy's mams sweetie." Said Chase before her reflection exited stage right.
A second later, Hannah watched as Chase stepped between her and the mirror; the weight and momentum of her breasts setting her nipples to shake ever so slightly as they loomed before Baby's wide eyed stare.
"Have a taste of Mommy's mammies, won't you Baby?"
"Sure Mommy."
Like two beautiful golden delicious apples hanging on a low bow, Hannah caressed the tantalizing fruit, slipping her cheeks along one and then the other; gently flicking their hard purpled stems between her thumb and fore finger, sliding her tongue around their little rosy skirts, wanting so badly to chew them even just a little bit. But Baby knew she had to be careful with Mommy's mammies, so she continued to calmly kiss and lick them, until Mommy let her robe fall all the way to the floor.
"What's the mattu wif you pwivit pot Mommy?" asked Baby, reaching tentative fingers, "It's got a bush on it!"
"That's my secret Baby Doll."
"You secret Mommy?"
"Yes Baby, my secret, but we're not gonna touch it right now, cuz it hurts a little. Kay?"
"Kay Mommy." Sang Hannah, genuine disappointment ringing in her voice.
"That's a good girl. Now; why don't you get up and let Mommy have a seat?"
Baby Doll crept off of the chair, and then onto the floor.
"That's good Baby. Now get on your hands and knees, and turn around."
Hannah did so, and allowed Chase the barest vantage of the inward curving horizontal and vertical intersect of her upper thighs and buttocks.
"Very good Baby. Now put your head to the floor and spread your legs. That's right."
Chase joined Hannah on the carpet then; draping her body over her left leg and settling her face inside Baby Doll's ass to munch her a nice welcome back. Presently, she pulled Hannah's leg back just enough so that she could rub her sensitive clitoris against Baby's calf and heel. As Hannah felt her welcome back unfold into a wave pool, she reached long fingers inside her own secret and proceeded to rub slow circles around her own clitoris with her sucking thumb. Then, after a fashion, before the puddle of Chase's ass spit puddle in the carpet got too wide, Mommy instructed Baby Doll to go and stand on the sowing chair while she went to get a tub of wipes.
So Baby did, though a bit confused and uncertain because she was sure Mommy wouldn't let her do anything that might make her fall and get hurt. But, Mommy came back, and there was Baby; still standing safe and tall. Chase set the tub, and the wipe she cleaned her face off with, on the sowing table, and approached Hannah. Lifting her skirts, Chase asked Hannah to hold them up against her tummy. Then, for the fourth time that day, Chase brought her face in close, mouth level, to Hannah's copper brown mons.
"Oh Mommy," Baby tittered, "Dat tickows! I wike dat. Hmm, I wike it awot."
"Hmm." Hummed Chase as she reached a hand behind Hannah's left knee, and lifted.
"Whoa!" yelled Hannah as she reached for the chair's backrest, "Hold up Mommy. Time out."
"What's the matter?" Chase laughed, "Afraid of a little penthouse? I just wanted to get your leg over my shoulder to; you know, get a deeper flavor. Come on Han. Don't you trust me?"
"I just don't want to break my leg." Hannah giggled, wobbling slightly as she made her way back up to standing as she lifted her hand from the back of the chair, "I think that would be a little much for the hospital room scene. I; I trust you."
"Really?" queried Chase; spotting Hannah as she tried to maintain balance while raising her left leg high over her lover's shoulder, "So you agree that one of our next manageable risks we take as a couple should be a tandom bungee jump from a bridge or maybe from an airplane?"
"Manageable risk?" Hannah chuckled nervously; the front of her skirt gathered up in her hands, her right leg braced, its foot set firmly on the chair, her left leg draped over Chase's right shoulder, Uh; Yeah. I think I'm going to have to give those possibilities some serious thought, if you don't mind."
"That's fine. But, in the mean time: I was hoping you'd be ready for me to show you off to my friends."
"Oh?" said Hannah, wanting Chase to just shut up and get back to eating her pussy already, "You mean like; college buddies or people at your school?"
"No." Chase answered; peering up into Hannah's eyes as she crept culprit fingers into her ass, "Those aren't the people that hold the truest significance in my life. You're very special to me Hannah, so I want you to meet my best friends: my munch buddies."
"Munch; buddies?" Hannah repeated warily, mesmerized by her lover's deep, dangerous, blues.
"Yes." Said Chase; a silver flicker of lust darting through her eyes depth, "You will be the prettiest little girl at the party."
3
Over two weeks into her gym membership, Catherine was still trying not to cower under the weight of strangers' stares. But, it was just as strenuous to feel comfortable being looked at as it was to put herself through the paces of her work out. The damage was done, long before Frank had pushed his prick into Cat's deflated sense of self. She felt ugly and ridiculous, and just plain didn't feel worthy of being looked at. But, she owed it to herself, and there was no going back.
Going in to it, a total stranger to moving her body through space in the manner the gym's exercise machines required, Catherine knew nothing. She knew how to eat less, remove the most criminal foods from her diet, but which exercises to do, for which portions of her body and for how long, mystified her. So, Catherine paid the extra money for a trainer. And, since she wasn't yet exactly comfortable with another guy's close scrutiny or even remotely practical or friendly physical contact, she was assigned a female fitness trainer.
Bailey Brousseau stood on a pair of long, lean legs; about five foot nine in her white track shoes, white spandex tights and a white and gold fitness center staff T shirt. She was graced with a long and silky mane of light blonde straight cut hair, which she usually wore, bound in a flowing pony that hung from the top of her head. Her eyes were a fierce amber tinged gray, and, other than the vaguely hatchet blade like shape of her nose, Bailey's face held a soft harmony of features; high cheek bones, full lips and a pleasantly diminutive chin.
"Man alive soldier; my grandmother can give me better push ups than that!" shouted Bailey as she hunkered down beside Catherine, "Lower that bottom! Straighten those arms. That's it. There you go. You got it."
It wasn't until after the fact of her enlistment that Catherine learned Bailey's nick name, uttered only under the muttered breath of other trainers at the gym, was Sergeant Brusso. Either as a symptom of her personality or as a component of her coaching style, Bailey barked her orders, though less like a drill instructor and more like a casually excited TV weather girl. She would say things like "drop and give me twenty," "get a move on soldier," or "I love the smell of warm up muscle cream in the morning."
Cat had reflected after the first session that maybe a male trainer might go a little easier on her, and would be somewhat less annoying. But, as they spent more time together, and as she observed others being trained around her, Cat realized that Sergeant Brusso was the real deal. She was a work out fiend, doing her own muscle, cardio and pulmonary before and after her sessions with Cat. She knew her stuff. She was a wealth of information that had both practical application in the gym as well as at home, and she was conceivably the most genuinely supportive human being she ever met.
In Cat's assessment, Bailey didn't have to care so much about her success. She would still get paid whether her trainees excelled or not. But Catherine recognized that Bailey saw the potential in her clients. She was like a master artist of body sculpting; gifted with an appreciation for and the ability to see, to draw out the hot body she saw hidden inside each of her clients. So, convinced, in spite of the woman's idiosyncrasies, Cat committed herself to Sergeant Brusso's boot camp.
That day's work out over, Catherine found that the women's locker room was unusually empty for a late Friday afternoon. So, she felt confident enough in its emptiness to let her guard down, and stroll to the showers unwrapped. It had been a great work out. She felt spectacular; totally invigorated, more self assured than she'd been in years and quite possibly; just a titch horny. The intensity of Cat's feelings were a bit heady in fact, so she thought the tingling inside her sex was just a manifestation of a muscle massing endorphin rush. Still, she found it pleasant; comforting enough to lead lingering finger tips against her rosy brown nipples and around the ample breasts behind them.
She was scrubbing the warm up cream from her legs when, through the sound of the water's spray, she heard the echo of a solitary pair of flip flops advance into the shower room. A twinge of shame suddenly injected Cat's creature lust, and robbed her of its warmth. Mildly exasperated, as if she'd ever, even in a million years, try to masturbate in a public place, Catherine became soberly subdued as she resumed washing herself.
Eventually, she ended her shower and reached for the towel that hung from a hook in the opposite wall. Stepping out of the stall, unconcerned as to the presence of another in a nearby curtained shower, Catherine began to dry herself off. The dryer she became, the further she stepped from her stall. The further away she stepped from the stall, the more aimless her steps until she suddenly realized that Bailey stood naked in the stall next to hers.
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