WARNING! All of my writing is intended for adults over the age of 18 ONLY. Stories may contain strong or even extreme sexual content. All people and events depicted are fictional and any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental. Actions, situations, and responses are fictional ONLY and should not be attempted in real life.
If you are under the age or 18 or do not understand the difference between fantasy and reality or if you reside in any state, province, nation, or tribal territory that prohibits the reading of acts depicted in these stories, please stop reading immediately and move to somewhere that exists in the twenty-first century.
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I finished up the items I needed to complete around seven and cleaned up and dressed for dinner. I had told Missy to be ready to go around eight, and right on time she came down the stairs from her room.
She was a truly beautiful woman no matter what she wore, but tonight she shimmered in a smooth white dress that ended about mid-thigh. Her dark hair was set to frame her face in an oval, and her nails were painted a glossy blue. Blue, sandal-style four-inch high heels completed the ensemble. From the way that the dress hugged her body, I was fairly sure that she had gone with the “no panties” option.
I gave a low whistle and said, “Very nice,” as she entered the room. As I took her arm to escort her to the car I said softly, “I see you went with the no panties and no jewelry options.”
“Yes and no,” she answered. When I looked somewhat puzzled, she turned to face away from me and then used her hands to slide the back of her dress up to the middle of her back. She bent over slightly and then a little farther. A jeweled butt plug glittered between her ass cheeks.
She stood back up, smoothed down her dress and said with a giggle, “People might guess I’m not wearing panties, but only you know for sure that I am wearing jewelry.”
As we drove the hour into town I kept repeating to myself, “She is like a therapy patient or a wounded pet. Keep your distance. Keep your distance.” But the smell of woman in the car was very strong and I kept seeing that diamond butt plug glittering in the light as we stood by the car.
I intentionally kept the conversation away from her past for the evening. Driving into town, she was relatively quiet, except for singing along quietly with the country music station I had on the radio. When we arrived at Jake’s Roadhouse, she was amazed. We were at the edge of a moderately small town miles out in the woods, but there were more cars in the parking lot than there were houses in the town.
“The population here is pretty dispersed,” I explained. “Driving a couple of hours for a good meal isn’t all that unusual, and out here a couple of hours is at least a hundred miles. So, Jake’s has as many customers as the fancy downtown restaurants you are used to. And the food is just as good.”
“We’ll see about that,” she answered.
Later, after I had finished my fried catfish and she had polished off a petite filet mignon smothered in mushrooms with a special wine sauce, she admitted, “Not as good as the best restaurant downtown, but better than most.”
“But you haven’t yet tried their desserts,” I teased. “Creme brulee made fresh each night is their specialty.”
She decided to try that. I stuck with a more traditional slice of pie. Creme brulee really doesn’t go well on top of fried catfish. It was approaching midnight by the time we arrived back home.
“Up bright and early tomorrow morning,” I told her. “We will eat breakfast and you can continue with the story of your life.”
Her disappointment that I didn’t at least try – or maybe succeed – to bring her into my bed was obvious. But there was something that was tearing her apart inside, and I wasn’t going to find out what that was by making love to her. Maybe later, but for now, I had to keep my distance.
I thought I would have to wake her up in the morning, but when I came down to the kitchen at 7:00 am, she was standing at the stove cooking eggs and bacon. “Can’t have steak and eggs every morning,” she said as I walked into the room.
“Why not?” I asked in reply.
She just stuck her tongue out at me. She was wearing the same light blue pajama jeans that she had worn the day before. She had put on one of my aprons so her ass was sticking out from the back of the apron in all its denim-colored glory. I sat down at the table and just appreciated the morning view.
After we had finished eating, she cleared the dishes into the sink and came back and stood at the table for a moment. “I know it is early in the morning and all that, but wine helps me talk – I mean think. Well, actually it does both. Is it OK if I get a glass of wine before we begin.”
“Whatever works for you,” I replied. “I will stick with my coffee.”
She got a wine glass off the rack and retrieved a half-full bottle of white wine from the refrigerator. When she had filled her glass she sat down and breathed a heavy sigh and asked, “Where should I begin today?”
“You had just finished eighth grade yesterday. Perhaps we should go on with High School – unless something major happened during that summer.”
Her face told me the answer before she began to speak. “We can’t skip that summer. That’s when everything changed. Well, it didn’t change, but it became public… No, not really public, but the families knew. They already knew, but…. uh….”
I motioned her to calm down with my hands. “Just start at the beginning, or at whenever it is that whatever happened that was so important that summer.”
She took a deep breath. “Every summer the family goes to camp for a couple of weeks. The smaller kids, and for some reason Marion and a couple of the other older cousins, would go to this regular vacation camp up in the mountains. Everyone else would go to Camp Curie down in southern Missouri. The Curie Clan has owned Camp Curie for generations, maybe even since before the Civil War.”
At that point I interrupted her. Holy shit! Why hadn’t I made the connection. “You are a Curie? You are part of the Curie Clan?”
“Yes,” she answered, suddenly bubbly. “Chrissy’s last name is Curie. My mom’s maiden name is Curie. We can trace our family history back to the old country where it is still the Clan O’Curie – no relation to the Currie’s with two r’s. Do you know of the Curie Clan?”
I hesitated as I tried to formulate my answer. I wanted to say what needed to be said without saying more than should be said. “I’ve… done business with them. SSSuzy told you that I make rather specialized equipment for rather specialized people, didn’t she?”
Missy didn’t seem to understand what I was implying, so I just said, “Let’s leave it at the fact that I know of the Curie Clan and go on with your story.”
“Anyway,” she continued, “after the band trip, mom and Chrissy’s mom sat Chrissy and I down in their kitchen and had a long talk with us. They explained that normally a boy or girl doesn’t go to Camp Curie until they are at least 17, but because both Chrissy and I had exhibited very advanced behaviors that showed that certain tendencies were already emerging, we needed to learn how to control those urges. So, even though we were just barely teenagers, we were going to Camp Curie that summer.”
“When camp was just a few weeks away, I asked my mom what clothing I needed to pack for camp. She laughed and answered, ‘You can wear all the clothing you need for camp on the trip down there. You might want to pack a couple extra pairs of shoes, though. You’ll need sneakers, high heels, and sandals.’ She laughed again and added, ‘…very high heels.'”
“I didn’t know what she meant until we got to camp. There were two paths that led back into the woods from the parking lot. A small sign on one of them looked an awful lot like the ping- pong paddle that Darren – and then Chrissy had used on me. The other sign had four oval rings linked together in a chain. Dad and Becky started down the path with the paddle sign. Mom and Billy started down the other path. Mom turned and said to me, ‘You’re with us, Missy. The slave areas are marked with chains on all the signs. Common areas just say what they are. The Masters areas are marked with a Curie Paddle. You are never to go into an area marked as Masters and Mistresses unless you are ordered to do so. Do you understand that?'”
“I said I understood, but I didn’t really. I sort of understood, and I thought I could figure the rest out later. When we got to the cabins, mom said, ‘We’re in number seven. There will be eight of us.'”
“I thought that when she said ‘we’ would be in number seven, she meant her and I, but when we got to the cabins, Billy followed us in. Chrissy’s dad and her sister Sharon were already in there as well as several other people. ‘Isn’t this a girl’s cabin?’ I asked.”
“Mom answered, ‘Lesson one at Camp Curie. Gender is irrelevant. There are no males and females. There are only Masters and slaves.'”
“‘What are the other lessons?’ I asked.”
“‘You will learn as we go along,’ she replied, ‘but the purpose of Camp Curie is to help slaves discover who they are and what their place is in the world. It is also to help Masters know themselves and learn the responsibilities that come from being a Master in this world. That is a continuous learning process and that is why every member of the Curie Clan must come here every summer for camp.'”
“‘Then why isn’t Marion here?’ I asked.”
“‘She is neither a Master or a slave,’ answered my mom. ‘The rest of the world would call her normal, and that means that the rest of the world thinks that Masters and slaves are not normal. We are what we are. No one is better or worse for what they are as long as they know who and what they are and their place and responsibilities in the world.'”
“She put her hands on my shoulders and held me in front of her. ‘You are a natural, full masochist – even more so that I am. That is more than just a slave, and it has shown itself very early in your life. A full masochist needs to be guided and protected… from herself or she will destroy herself and perhaps those around her. That’s why you are here at such a young age.'”
“I looked back into her eyes and asked, ‘But what about Chrissy? She isn’t a masochist. She likes to spank me.'”
“Mom had an odd look on her face like she wasn’t sure she should say what she was about to say, but then she sighed and dropped her shoulders slightly. ‘Chrissy is a full sadist. She is a natural Master. It is just as important that she be taught who she is and what her responsibilities are in the world or she will become evil. She will destroy not only people like you who are drawn to pain, but she will also unleash evil upon the world until the world is forced to destroy her. Her brother Darren is also a full sadist as is her mother Margie. Margaret learned her responsibilities at a very early age and is an excellent Master. I worry about Darren. I hope Chrissy is more teachable than he has been.'”
“Mom suddenly had a very frightened look on her face and added, ‘Don’t ever tell anyone what I have told you.’ Then she straightened up and started unbuttoning her blouse as she said,’Time to get ready for the evening assembly.'”
“‘What are we supposed to wear?’ I asked.”
“‘Sandals,’ answered Billy from slightly behind me. I turned and he was standing there naked, as were Sharon and her dad. Billy explained, ‘Here at Camp Curie, slaves are naked. Masters are clothed. It makes it really easy to tell the difference.'”
“I followed mom up the path to the main part of camp. Except for the fact that half of the people there were naked, it was much like any other family summer camp. There was a large dinning hall and a big recreation area. The chef and cooks in the kitchen were clothed, so they must have been masters – or perhaps, neutrals. Almost all of the servers were naked, so they were obviously slaves. The problem of a slave not being able to wear a hat or hair net was solved simply by the fact that the server slaves had no body hair at all except their eyebrows and eyelashes.”
“The Masters sat in padded chairs and there were table cloths covering the tables in front of them. The slaves sat at the other end of the room on simple wooden benches. Our tables were simple picnic-table-like wooden platforms and were barren except for containers of napkins, silverware, and condiments.”
“Masters were served first. Then, when all of the Masters had their food, the servers came to the other end of the dinning hall to serve the slaves. It appeared to be the same food, and it was good, but there was no doubt that Masters and slaves did not receive the same treatment from the staff. Maybe that was a lesson also. Masters were treated better by the world than slaves.”
“After everyone had eaten, the servers moved among the Master’s tables to pick up the plates and the remains of the meal. The slaves rose table by table and took their stuff back to a window at the kitchen. We had already returned to our table when there was a loud crash. One of the naked servers had dropped a bin full of plates as she was carrying them back to the kitchen from the Masters’ tables. One of the cooks came out of the kitchen and inspected the mess. ‘Six broken plates,’ she announced, ‘and two broken glasses.'” “From the first of the Master’s tables, I heard a voice call out. ‘Five with the tawse for each glass. Ten for each plate.'”
“The cook dragged the trembling server over to the fireplace. There were several eye bolts screwed solidly into the heavy wooden mantle. Another naked server ran up to him and handed him something. It was a set of leather wrist cuffs. He grabbed the arm of the server who had dropped the tray and buckled one cuff on her wrist. The second cuff was soon on her other wrist and shortly thereafter the cuffs were clipped to two of the eye bolts so that her arms were widely spread.”
“Another naked server ran up with what appeared to be a short pole with more wrist cuffs hanging from it. It was a spreader bar. The cook quickly attached one leg cuff to the woman’s leg and then pushed her legs wide apart and attached the other cuff so that she now hung from the mantel like a giant X in front of the fire.”
“The cook then turned to the Masters and asked, ‘Does this slave’s Master wish to see to her punishment?'”
“‘You may have the pleasure,’ a voice replied. ‘But make the last three special so that she remembers them.'”
“‘As you wish,’ the cook answered, and she took a tawse from a server who had come running up to her with it in her hand. She then addressed the trembling, naked slave hanging before her. ‘You have been sentenced to seventy lashes with the tawse. Do you submit to this punishment?'”
“The slave answered, ‘Yes, this slave submits. This property deserves this punishment for breaking my Master’s property.'”
“The cook started whipping the girl with the leather tawse. After each lash you could hear her scream and then count out the number of the stroke. Her voice was becoming more and more husky and hoarse sounding as the number got higher and higher. As I watched, I started to feel the heat and squishiness rising within me.”
“When the slave called out ‘sixty-seven,’ the cook paused and stepped back from her. The server’s ass and legs were striped with red welts. She hung limp and sweaty in the restraints. The cook then swung her arm wide to the side so that the tawse slapped into the slave’s body just at the side of her right breast. The thick leather thong curved around to the front of her breast and the split tip snapped over her nipple. Her shriek of pain was very shrill and very loud. The cook swung again, only this time to the other side so that the slave’s left breast received the same treatment.”
“The cook then stepped back for a moment and swung upward with a powerful stroke. The leather went between the slave’s spread legs. I could hear the slap of it striking and a second snap as the tip whipped around to the front and struck directly against her clit. This time the slave’s scream filled the room for a long time – until her lungs had no more air to move her vocal cords. After that she just hung limply panting for breath.”
“‘Billy leaned over to me and whispered, ‘Toni drops a tray at the first meal every year. Her record is eleven dishes and six glasses. She couldn’t walk right for the whole two weeks, but she said she orgasmed nine times while the cook whipped her that night. She is becoming sort of a first night tradition here at camp.'”
“Sharon leaned over to me and spoke in a soft voice, ‘Don’t worry, little naked slave. You will get your chance one day.’ I looked over at her and she smiled and reached down and slid her finger through my slit. She held it up all wet and glistening. ‘Missy likes it,’ she said. Then she reached down with her other hand and slid it between her legs. When she held up that hand, it was as wet or wetter than the other. ‘So does Sharon,’ she added with a smile.”
“Camp was pretty much what any summer camp is. We had activities in the morning and evening and mostly free time in the afternoons. There were a couple of lecture discussion groups. Ours were on knowing our limits and setting limits with a Master. Things like safe words were discussed, and the topic of what to do if a Master abused you and did not respect your limits. The leaders of the session were a Master and Mistress. The Master said about ten times, ‘Out there in the world, a slave has no one to turn to because the world writes them off. But you are a part of the Curie Clan. The family protects you. In that one respect, whether you are Master, slave or neither you are equal. You are protected by the Curie Clan.'”
“Mom told me that the same couple led the discussion for the Masters. ‘It is basically the same lecture, except from a Master’s point of view – how a Master needs to respect a slave’s limits and all of that.’ Then she opened her eyes rather wide and rolled them as she shrugged in a ‘whatever’ sort of way.”
“‘Of course,’ she continued, ‘the emphasis to the Master’s is not how the Curie Clan protects them, but how the Curie Clan will make sure that they properly live up to their responsibilities. We aren’t supposed to know this, but there is a sign in the Master’s meeting room that says, ‘The Curie Clan is the Ultimate Master.’ If a Master goes against the Clan, they can be banished – or worse. The Curie Clan is the Master’s Master, and that Ultimate Master protects all Curie slaves.'”
“I asked her,’How do you know that?’ and she answered, ‘There are other things discussed and demonstrated at the Masters’ meetings, and for some of them you need a live slave who likes pain.’ She turned very red after that and wouldn’t look me in the eyes for several minutes.”
= = =
Things were very quiet in the room for a few minutes. I waited to see what she was going to talk about next, but Missy suddenly announced, “Time for more wine.” She held up her empty glass and asked,”Do you want more coffee?”
“Only if its hot,” I replied.
“Isn’t that why you have this fancy machine?” she asked as she dumped the dregs out of my mug and placed it under the spout of the demand coffee maker. She dropped one of the plastic cups into the top and stood there while the hot, black coffee poured into my mug.
When she returned to the table, I asked, “What else happened at camp?”
“Well, I got to know Chrissy’s older sister Sharon a lot better. She is – was – very much like me.”
There was another uncomfortable silence that I thought it was best to just wait out, and then Missy continued. “Sharon likes it even more than me. She would do things intentionally to get herself punished. The first time I saw that was at the dodge ball games, but I didn’t realize at first what she was doing.”
“Dodge ball?” I asked.
“That’s what they called it. There would be two teams of twenty each. Ten Masters and ten slaves on each side. The Masters would wear this weird looking target about six inches across with a row of red led lights all around it. It hung almost down to their belly buttons with a thin belt that went around them to keep it from flopping around. It looked like it was padded on the back to protect their stomachs when it was hit. If the ball hit the target, the lights lit up and an alarm went off. That meant that the Master or Mistress was out of the game.”
“The slaves had a similar target, but we didn’t wear them on a chain around our necks.”
She blushed deeply. “We.. uh… we… we weren’t facing our opponents. The slaves knelt down in the sand facing away from the other side with our heads to the ground. Our targets were the same size, but they were attached to…” She blushed very, very deeply. “electrified butt plugs.”
“If your target got hit, you got shocked, and the only way to get it turned off was for it to time out or for you to go over to the opponent’s coach. If their coach shut off the plug, their team would get a certain number of points, and you would probably get punished by your coach for letting down the team. If you just rode out the shocks until it quit, no points were awarded to either side.”
“It was the start of the second week that summer when we had our first game of dodge ball. I didn’t know what was supposed to happen and was just standing there with my brother David. He had on one of the medallions and told me that once all the slaves were assembled, he would get me ‘suited up’ and we would be ready to begin.”
“Chrissy was standing with the other team, but there was no slave with her yet. The other nine slaves were already standing with the Master or Mistress that would protect them during the game. Everyone was looking around and pretty soon we heard some loud voices. Chrissy’s mom came onto the court dragging Sharon along behind her. Darren was helping hold down her flailing arms.”
“‘I won’t do it, you bitch!’ she cried out. ‘And Darren can go screw himself.'”
“‘Now Sharon,’ Mrs. Curie replied in a surprisingly calm voice, ‘You know that you agreed to this specifically when you signed the papers at the start of camp. If you don’t participate willingly, we will bind you in place.'”
“‘Fuck you!’ was Sharon’s only response.”
“‘For such disrespect, your target will be set at level four, and since you will be bound, you will not have the option of surrendering to the opposing coach to get it shut off.’ She turned toward the other players on that team and said, ‘I need some assistance to subdue this unruly slave. Please take care of her. I have a meeting to attend.'”
“Several of the Masters stepped forward from both teams and bent Sharon down into a kneeling position. Then they pulled her arms down and back between her legs and wrapped what looked like camouflage duct tape around her wrists and ankles. She now had no choice but to be in the proper kneeling position with her butt high in the air.”
“The only problem was that in the struggle to get her bent down, she had turned, and she was no longer facing the right direction. Two of the Masters picked her up so that they could turn her around and get her ass facing in the right direction. As they were turning her, her head was lifted up and she looked directly at me. She smiled and winked at me and that’s when I knew that the whole thing was an act on her part to increase the pain she would have to experience.”
“I asked David what setting four meant and he explained that…”
I interrupted her at this point. “There are four settings on the anal target. Settings one and two are low and high game settings. Settings three and four are punishment settings with level four being the most extreme.”
Missy went wide-eyed and asked, “How do you know that?”
“Didn’t I tell you that I knew the Curie Clan and that I had business dealings with them? Those targets are some of my devices. As I said, ‘specialized equipment for specialized people.'”
Missy’s mouth hung open. “You are W. All those things they use at camp, you invented them. SSSuzy didn’t tell me you were W. Can I see some of the things you are working on? Maybe I can test something for you?”
Missy looked like a puppy begging for a dog biscuit. I laughed at her exuberance, but knew that we had to finish this section of her story. “Maybe later,” I said. “For now, you have to finish telling me about the dodge ball game.”
Missy sighed in disappointment and said, “OK. If we have to. Where was I.”
“Sharon had just gotten herself tied up and set to setting four.”
“Oh, yes. You probably know that the point of the game is to be the last one standing, but at the same time protect your slave. A slave’s target getting hit doesn’t really do anything for the game unless the slave surrenders to the opposing coach to get their target shut off, but each Master is worth fifty points. Evidently they keep scores and make bets and all of that.”
“David told me that he would be my protector and that because I was so young, the target would be set at game position one. All I had to do if my target got hit was to stay in place and endure for the sake of the team. I said, ‘OK’ and knelt down in the sand where he pointed for me to be.”
“It felt kind of weird when David squirted some lube between my ass cheeks and even weirder when he pushed his finger in and out of me a couple of times. Then he asked, ‘Are you ready for this?’ and slowly pushed the butt plug into me.”
“It felt really weird. I’d had other things up there before – even in public, like the key ring thing at the motel, but this was much larger and the target rubbed against my ass cheeks like someone was pressing a plate or saucer up against me.”
“‘Just stay there and don’t move regardless of what happens,’ David ordered and then I heard him call out ‘Ready here!'”
“Soon there were other cries of ‘Ready here!’ until all ten slaves were ready. A referee blew a whistle and everyone started throwing what looked like undersized volleyballs at each other. I heard the girl kneeling next to me shriek and jump around a bit. Evidently her target had been hit.”
“Balls were flying all over the place. I heard a loud beeping and one the Mistresses on the other side of us walked off the court. Almost as soon as she left three or four balls pelted her kneeling slave and he began wailing in pain.”
“So it went until it was just David and me on our side and apparently only one Master and their slave on the other. I twisted my head around to see if I could see who it was and was almost hit in the face by a ball thrown by Chrissy. Her aim was evidently thrown off by the ball that David had thrown at her.”
“A few moments later they again both threw at the same time. Chrissy was throwing to hit David’s target, but David was not throwing at Chrissy. He took advantage of the moment of her throw to drill one past under her arm and directly into Sharon’s target. I could hear a series of “Ugh… Ugh… Ugh’s…” as electric pulses pounded into Sharon’s body.”
“Someone later told me that taking out Chrissy’s slave had not been a smart move for David because it allowed her to move more freely and more likely hit his target, but David knew what he was doing. He let Chrissy think she was drawing him away from me and when I was totally open, she let fly a clear shot at my target. The balls had hurt whenever they had hit me, but it really hurt when one slammed into that target. Immediately after that the anal plug started sending shocks into my body. I twitched and grunted with each pulse, but I never left my knees. I don’t know if it was because I was doing this for the team or because I was naked on my knees in public getting my ass fried with electricity, but the warm and squishy feeling soon crowded out the pain and I was almost sorry when it finally timed out.”
“When I came back to my senses, everyone was jumping up and down and hugging David. He had waited for Chrissy to throw at me and had nailed her right in the target while her arm was still extended in the throw. We had won.”
“The couple that had led the seminars addressed the players. ‘This game shows how a Master will protect a slave who is a family member. We are now going to play a second game where each Master or Mistress chooses the slave they are going to protect. This will reinforce that the Master-slave bond is even stronger than family. Masters and Mistresses, choose your partners.”
“Dad came onto the court and chose mom. Another wife – a Mistress – walked onto the court with her husband. Chrissy’s mom chose Sharon. Several young Masters or Mistresses chose as partners a slave that they had become close to. I thought that I would not be in this round since I wasn’t close to anyone, but Chrissy walked up to me and announced, ‘I will defend Missy.'”
“We walked out on the court and after we were all in place the referee announced, ‘Masters and Mistresses, prepare your slaves.'”
“As I knelt down, I could see Sharon kneeling willingly before her mother. I could read her lips as she said, ‘Setting four, mother, or I won’t stay on the court.'”
“Chrissy squirted a glob of lube between my cheeks and reached down to work the target into me. ‘Chrissy,’ I said, ‘setting four… please.'”
“Chrissy asked, ‘Are you sure?’ and I nodded my head. ‘If that is what my little naked slave girl wants,’ she said as she set the switch. Then she forced the butt plug into my ass in one swift motion.”
“Since all I could see was the sand beneath my face, I really don’t know much about what happened in the game itself except that at the end it was once again me and Sharon kneeling in the sand with our lone protectors battling to the finish. Chrissy’s mom had been somewhere else in camp during the first match and hadn’t seen David’s winning move, so Chrissy borrowed the move and tried it on her mother. She waited until Mrs. Curie was throwing at her and drilled one past her into Sharon’s target. I could hear Sharon grunting with pain – or perhaps pleasure as the anal plug discharged shock after shock into her body.”
“Then Chrissy moved in for the win. The plan worked just like it had worked for David with one major exception. Chrissy’s mom was also faking, and rather than throwing at me, threw directly at Chrissy. The effect was the same, however, and Chrissy’s ball slammed into her intended target. Chrissy, meanwhile, dove into the sand and the ball aimed at her sailed to the back of the court.”
“Again everyone was jumping and celebrating. I just remained kneeling on the ground. I was crying softly. Chrissy looked down and me and said, ‘Missy’s disappointed she couldn’t show Sharon that she could take as much as she could.’ With that, she reached down and slapped the target with her hand.”
“Everything exploded inside of me. It felt like lightning was running through my ass and out into my arms and legs. I shook and quaked and grunted with each jolt. I lost control of my bladder and piss streamed between my legs and onto the ground. But the heat and the squashiness boiled up inside of me until the volcano exploded and I buried my face against my arms and let out a long, long wailing moan.”
“This time when I came to my senses most of the Masters and Mistresses and their slaves were standing in a wide circle around me. Chrissy was standing next to me. She stroked my back and then reached down and patted my ass cheek next to the target. ‘Missy likes it? Don’t you Missy?'”
“I didn’t even raise my head. I just stared down at the sand and answered her, ‘Yes, Missy likes it. Missy likes it very much.'”
= = =
After several moments of silence, Missy looked up at me as if suddenly realizing where she was for the first time. “And Missy would like to clean up and rest up a little before lunch. Is that OK with you?”
“Fine by me,” I replied. “We will have sandwiches on the back deck exactly at noon. See you then.”
As she walked up the stairs, I could not help but thinking that she was very close to telling me the final part of the story. Maybe after lunch, or perhaps tonight. In the meantime, I needed to review my files on the Curie Clan, just in case I was missing something important about Missy or Chrissy or someone else in the story.
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END CHAPTER THREE OF FIVE
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