Plaything

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Ass

This is my first attempt at an erotic story and I would be very interested to receive any comments that you may have. I normally write Science Fiction and there is perhaps a hint of that in this story (old Habits die hard). Hope you enjoy it.

Day One– The Girl.

It was wrong… It was a silly thing to do but I did it anyway… After all, it never happens to us, it can’t, can it? Well? Can it?

Actually, it can… It does… It did!

I am confused. I don’t know where I am. Please, I don’t know where I am. I explore: it’s pitch-black: there is something in my mouth, it is hard and rubbery, I spit it out, but it won’t go. I push it with my tongue but something is holding it in place so I bite down on it – it gives, but not by much. Its about two inches across, hard and round: I shout, but all that comes out is: “Uh! Urr!”

I was at the bus stop: it was pouring with rain: there was just me and the girl: the Indian girl about seventeen or eighteen. She looked about ten years younger than me and just as bedraggled with the rain making “rat’s tails” out of her long black hair. I’d seen her before; she always caught the same bus as me: the six-fifty. But we’re both British, so we had never spoken.

Cars went past, we both got splashed a couple of times. I looked at her hopefully without her noticing: she looked like a student; short raincoat over jeans. Colours weren’t obvious under the orange street lights. God! I hate dark mornings!

How did I get from there to here? How did I get the ball in my mouth? I don’t know! I’m spread-eagled as well, how did I get like that? Think, girl, think!!! I’m upright, the ball in my mouth is making me drool; I feel the saliva land on my breast and begin to trickle down into my cleavage. I feel myself frown. My clothes? Where are my clothes? Ah, yes, the scissors. ‘Snip… Snip… Snip!’ I remember those scissors.

I’m at the bus stop with the pretty Indian girl. Oh no! My raincoat is starting to fail; that’s the trouble with fashion clothes… They are useless! Plastic macs are out of fashion, so I get wet. A car splashes my legs and I hiss my displeasure. I must have said something because the girl stares at me, smiles and nods – her complexion strange in the orange light.

Something is holding my hands up above my head… Something is holding my feet in position about two feet apart… I’m the letter “X”… “X” marks the spot that I am in… My feet are on the floor and I am standing and it is pitch dark but I cannot move. Why am I not terrified? But its warm and no longer raining. Somehow I am at peace and past caring. I close my eyes and watch the pretty points of light dancing in my own personal blackness.

The bus is late. I glance at my watch, but cannot read it because of the rain spots that are striking the glass. The rain spots and the strange orange street lights. They say that nothing rhymes with “orange”: what would want to?

A car pulls up: it is a big car, a Mercedes or a Jaguar. Big, white and mud splattered. I don’t know much about cars except that I can’t afford one. The window winds down and, curiously, I look in. An Indian woman leans over.

“Excuse me, Miss, do you know the way to North Road College?” Her voice is accented but cultured.

I answer that I’m a lecturer there , but its not straight forward from here… A lot of turnings.

She smiles, all pearl-white teeth with gold fillings. “Would you like a lift: that way you can give me directions?”

Say: “No!” Say: “No!” Say: “No!” Please say: “No!” “Ooh yes please, that would be wonderful!”

I climb into the front passenger seat and sink in: its like a very comfortable armchair., it seems to mould itself around me. The adventure is beginning but I don’t know it yet… I am just glad to be out of the infernal rain.

I test my bonds: there are cuffs around my wrists and ankles: not tight, not restricting, just enough to hold me in place. I struggle and find that I have no movement: clips rattle: metal clips, but that’s all. Oh, I wished that it was light… Then I realise/remember that there is something soft and velvety over my eyes. It is a mask or blindfold. I relax and let my captive wrists support some of my weight… I doze.

The girl at the bus stop suddenly leans in… “Hey, I’m a student there. Can I have a lift too please?” So that’s where I have seen her before – she’s one of our anonymous two thousand… Do I teach her? No, no I don’t, but she’s a pretty little thing.

The Indian woman sighs resignedly and says: “Get in the back.”

I’m with two other women: I can only be safe… Besides, I’m dry! I’m warm! I’m out of that damned rain.

The big car swings out into the city traffic and heads north. The car radio is playing something classical – something by Mozart. It must be, it’s soothing and it’s pack-jammed full of notes.

“Next left.” I say helpfully but something damp is pressed over my nose and mouth…

There is a sweet, sickly smell and taste and my head spins. I don’t quite lose consciousness but seem to be in that state between waking and sleeping. Mozart reaches a casino siteleri crescendo and I feel detached from reality. I see the driver operate a control on the dash and my seat-back begins to move down slowly. Soon I am lying almost flat. I wriggle to get more comfortable, nice!

My head is spinning, but I am relaxed… So relaxed. I feel something round being pushed into my mouth… Something round and rubbery. The girl lifts my head gently and slips a strap around my neck and buckles it, taking care not to trap my long red hair. She is soooo gentle and her hands are soooo soft that I smile, or try to. One after another, she buckles cuffs around my wrists. They are fur-lined and have metal rings on them. This isn’t right, but I don’t care! I feel safe! I feel comfortable! I feel warm! Something sticks into my neck: something like a pin or a needle and hey! I’m past caring and actually fall asleep.

I dream: I’m in a warm comfortable place: Mozart is playing: I am in a very posh motor car… I’ve never been in a Mercedes before. . . . . . . . . . . .

“Oh Lord won’t you buy me a Mercedes Benz?

My friends all drive Jaguars and I must make amends.

I’ve worked hard all my life, Lord, no help from my friends,

So Lord won’t you buy me a Mercedes Benz?”

. . . . . . . . . it runs through my head over and over: it drowns out the sound of the engine (what sound?). It drowns out Mozart… Four nonsense lines play over and over filling my little world, drowning out everything else… Or at least I dream that they do.

I stare up at the car’s roof: it is upholstered in soft white leather. The girl gently lifts my head and slips something around it, covering my eyes. Something velvety and black. A soft kiss is placed on my forehead. A gentle voice says: “Sleep well, my darling.”

…and I do! Or at least, I dream that I do.

* * * * *

Time passes. I am no longer in the car, I am suspended on the frame. The ball-gag is removed and I am gently offered a bottle of water. I drink greedily as I am very thirsty. I become aware of a pain in my lower abdomen, it goes at the same time that I realise that there is warm liquid soaking through my clothes and running down my legs.

A cultured voice with a musical Indian accent says: “You must house train her, Hamsini, my darling!” The voice is gently chiding.

The ball-gag is slipped back into my mouth: I do not resist, I do not want to resist. Instead I whimper and the blindfold is removed. I blink at the bright light.

The room is about thirty feet square and is decorated in brilliant white. Two of the walls are hidden by heavy white satin curtains After the darkness, it dazzles me. When my eyes return to normal I see that there are just the three of us: the woman, the girl and me. I can see them both and the resemblance is obvious… Mother and Daughter. Yes, that’s it, they must be: Mother and Daughter. I feel pleased with myself for reaching that conclusion; after the last injection, thinking is not easy.

The two of them relax in white armchairs, they are just watching me They are so alike. Suddenly, the Mother turns to her Daughter: “Are you sure? Remember we can’t exactly take her back to the shop?”

Hamsini, the daughter, regards me seriously then springs to her feet, comes over and begins brushing my hair which I wear long. She is very gentle. “Umm, Mummy, she is so beautiful. Just look at her hair: its like burnished copper. And her green eyes. Oh, I’m sure. This is the one that I want!”

The Mother stands and walks over. They kiss in front of me, the kiss has an obvious sexual undercurrent and lasts over a minute. They break and the Mother, still hugging the Daughter to her, speaks: “Well then. Happy Birthday, my darling. Eighteen today!” She squeezes her Daughter and kisses her again. “Why don’t you unwrap your present?”

She sits down to watch the show from the comfort of her armchair while Hamsini collects a pair of long scissors from somewhere and begins to remove my still-damp clothing snip by snip.

She is careful, oh so careful as she cuts through my raincoat… She gently gathers up my hair and drapes it over my shoulder, then: snip snip snip through the back of the jacket, right down from collar to waist. I feel it loosen immediately. Then she repeats the process at the front… Slowly, carefully the big scissors cut my prized Burberry down to my waist, I whimper.

“Don’t be a silly girl!” She chides me. “I won’t hurt you… I’ll never hurt you, my darling.”

“Have you thought of a name for your pet?” Her Mother enquired. “She should have a pretty name.”

I tried to tell them that I already had a name but the gag turned my words into gibberish.

Hamsini steps back. “According to the meaning of my name, I am the woman ‘who rides the swan’.”

Her Mother chuckled. “Oh how fitting: you plan to call her ‘Hamsiki’? Is that not so, my darling?” She could see where this was going.

“Umm, something like that… There are many names that mean ‘swan’ but ‘Hansa’ is my favourite. After all if I am ‘the one who rides the swan’: then canlı casino should I not have a beautiful swan to ride?” Mother and Daughter laughed, but it isn’t a nasty laugh.

“Oh yes: ‘Hansa’ is a beautiful name for her. She after all is very swan-like with her white skin. Yes, an excellent choice!” With Mother’s approved and I became her Daughter’s beautiful white swan.

Hamsini turned back to me, and with a few more snips , opened my sleeves from collar to cuff. The raincoat fell away, revealing my brown turtle-neck jumper. “Oh, what an ugly garment!” Hamsini gasped and snipped away at my favourite jumper in exactly the same way as my Burberry, only this time she sheared through my bra too and I was suddenly naked above the waist.

The girl lowered the scissors and gently played with one of my breasts. I was sure that this was wrong, but my nipples betrayed me, for as soon as she ran her finger around them. They stiffened and stood out. She licked one and gently flicked it with her tongue. “Oh, how cute… They’re coral-pink not chocolate-brown!” She proclaimed in surprise.

Her Mother chuckled happily at her Daughter’s reaction to my tits.

“Can they be made larger?” Hamsini asked hopefully.

“The breasts or the nipples?”

“Umm, both, please.” The Daughter answered hopefully.

“I don’t see why not. Tell you what, finish unwrapping her and we’ll discus what needs to be improved. After all, I want your Birthday present to be perfect!”

My head was clearing slowly: I wasn’t in any immediate danger: nothing life threatening: but judging by what they were saying, my life was about to change beyond all recognition.

The scissors snipped again – one long cut this time, straight down the front of my skirt so that everything fell away leaving me in just a pair of pale-blue panties. Then two very careful snips later, both down the outside of each leg, and I was naked except for the cuff around each ankle and wrist. I look at them, each one has a metal loop built into it: the loop is attached to the frame by a large brass padlock. I clearly wasn’t going anywhere in the near future!

Hamsini stepped back and began to appraise me, or more precisely, my body. She stared at me for several minutes and I blushed a deep red. “Oh! How quaint.” The girl seemed genuinely pleased by my reaction.

She stepped forward and slipped a hand between my legs. I felt a finger gently ease up into my pussy. “She’s quite moist even now, Mummy. I think she likes girls!”

Her Mother found this to be funny and chuckled again. “Don’t worry, my precious child, if she doesn’t, she soon will.”

The girl withdrew her finger: sniffed it, then tasted it. “Oh, wow! She’s heavenly. I can’t wait to lick her out.” She tweaked my pubic hair and I winced. “But that patch of red fur has got to go: I hate getting hair in my mouth!”

Her Mother nodded but said nothing as she sat there enjoying her Daughter’s obvious pleasure.

Presently they reapplied my blindfold and left me to my thoughts, such as they were. I sensed movement near me occasionally – no doubt the remains of my clothes were being cleared away. Then I was left to doze: I must have been drugged again for I have only vague memories of the remains of that day.

What is it that people say when they are trying to sound knowledgeable in an attempt to impress? ‘Today is the first day of the rest of your life.’

If that isn’t pretensions drivel, then nothing is… But there again, in my case it was more or less true… Except… Today was certainly the first day of Hansa’s life and the last of my own.

Day Two – The Awakening.

IMPORTANT NOTE: After ‘Day One’ I was, and still am, unsure as to the number of actual days that passed: only the sequence of events. It will be ‘Day Twenty-One’ before I see daylight again, or experience anything which could be described as ‘a complete day’. The events that I describe as happening on ‘Day Two’ may indeed have taken place on ‘The Second Day’. However, they may have also taken place at the end of ‘Day One’ or on ‘Day Three’ or even ‘Day Thirty’! There is no way to know for sure. The event sequence is correct but the day numbers are really little more than pegs upon which to hang these events.

I woke up the next(?) morning… Well I think it was the next… The mask and the ball gag were gone as was the frame, although I was still in the white room; or one identical to it.

“Good morning, Hansa, my darling!” A familiar and enthusiastic girlish voice cut into the tangled nightmare of my dreams. Nightmare? No! There was nothing unpleasant about my dreams or predicament. Surreal, yes. Unpleasant, no. For all intents and purposes, my life as a Human Being seemed to be over and that of a beloved pet animal had seamlessly taken its place.

I rolled over in my nest of blankets and beheld the face of my owner: the girl from yesterday who I only knew as Hamsini: the swan-rider. I smiled and she smiled back. She reached forward and buckled a diamanté-studded dog collar around my neck. It was soft and velvety against my skin. She kissed me on kaçak casino top of my head – exactly the same way that I used to kiss my dog when I was a child.

I look around… It seems that I had slept in some sort of large pet bed one with my name on it.

“Mummy says that I must look after you properly: well I intend to!” I felt her running her fingers through my hair.

“Where am I?” I asked plaintively.

The slap stung my face and was quite unexpected because of the gentle treatment that I had hither-to received. “Bad puppy-girl! You must only bark or whine, animals do not speak in words. If Mummy finds out, she’ll have them take your voice away. I don’t want that, not yet anyway. You are a pet, so remember that and we’ll both be very happy.”

I was still light-headed, probably due to the cocktail of drugs that I had been fed yesterday when I was given an injection to keep me docile, so they were planning to keep me drugged to make me compliant.

Hamsini stands over me: she was wearing a white satin blouse, a bright tartan miniskirt and white knee length socks while I am dressed in precisely nothing. “Come on, lazy-bones: time for breakfast!”

She clips a lead onto my collar and leads me across the room to a food bowl. I crawl on all fours, much to the girl’s pleasure. Breakfast is eaten on the floor.

After I had eaten as best I could, she carefully washes my face and brushes my hair and her own. Hers, though the blackest black, was as long as mine.

She expects me to ‘puddle’ on sheets of newspaper… So this is what her Mother had meant by ‘house-training’. I squat down as best I can, but the stream of liquid gushes out, splashes up and soaks my legs and feet.

“I think that I had better let you use a toilet from now on.” Is her only comment, although I think that she is more than a little disappointed that the experiment has failed. She dries me off and I am allowed to relieve myself with dignity thereafter.

She allows me to walk upright most of the time as I am clearly no physical threat to her… In fact I am slightly taller and at twenty-eight, mine is the more mature figure: a figure that she seems to enjoy exploring. That exploration begins in the shower; although I must admit that before “The Second Day”, showering had always been a non-social activity for me. Today I am expected to wash both of us while Hamsini plays with my body and shows obvious enjoyment in the process. The play and exploration becomes more sexual as time goes on until she gently pushes me into a kneeling position and presses her pussy against my face.

Am I expected to lick her? I honestly do not know how too. If she expects me to gratify her then she will have to teach me how. But no! She just intends to use me. Gently at first and then gradually faster and faster, she begins to rub her vulva against my face. She is using me to masturbate against… I am actually relieved as she rubs her self ecstatically against my mouth, cheeks and nose. I don’t need to do anything other than cooperate and she soon cums and actually squirted over me during her orgasm. The shower took most of it away, but some goes into my mouth. I have not tasted a girl before: she is exquisite. She screams and twitches in orgasmic release, then helps me to my feet and out of the shower. We dry each other on large, soft white towels… This will become a daily ritual, although as yet I am unaware of this aspect of my future existence.

Days Four to Twenty – The Improvements.

My confusion continues. I am separated from my beloved Hamsini and her all-powerful Mother. Once the woman is satisfied that I am truly what her Daughter wants, I am put into the hands of a shadowy section of the Medical Profession. Her “Special Doctors” as she always calls them

Over the next many days I am kept sedated while my body is cut, tucked and padded out. It is a heady mix of lethargy, torpor, confusion, sleep, drowsiness and shadows. People speak, their voices echo. Their words are in no languages that I understand. They echo through my hearing and throughout my poor empty head. Someone seems to snarl gutturally at me while another hisses and hacks as if they are clearing their throat. There is a sing-song argument; laughter; a memory of arm waving – a lot of arm waving. I drift in and out of consciousness. My body is the centre of attention while the mind, hiding somewhere, is ignored. I feel, low, high, remote. I feel wanted and reviled all at the same time. I do not feel as if I am me or even that there is a me for them to be concerned about.

There is pain. There is soreness. There is a burning sensation in my groin, then in my arm pits. I drift off to sleep. I drift back to something resembling consciousness. The old pains are gone: now I have new ones and my throat is on fire. There is a heavy weight pressing down against my chest and I cannot move. I am suspended in some sort of a cradle and figures in green scrubs are tinkering with me. I drift off to sleep again. This happens time after time… The hours stretch into days into weeks, or so it seems as I awake and fall asleep without and reference to day and night. I am connected to bags, bottles and containers by tubes and wires, Electrical things beep and click in response to I know not what. Shadowy figures in green read the dials and gauges… Time passes.

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