Author’s note : I apologize for the long hiatus of this series. I was having quite some trouble trying to figure out how to continue the story while trying to keep things realistic. For those of you who have commented on my previous post, I thank you for the support and the ideas you’ve so kindly dispensed. Please enjoy this installation of Mistress in the Making.

Chapter 8

A loud thud echoed across the living room. An invigorating scent of coffee filled my nose and I opened my eyes. In front of me resting on the clear glass coffee table was a steaming cup.

That could only mean one of two things. Either a burglar broke into the house and decided to brew himself a cup of Joe or my aunt had come back and made that cup for me. I figured it was probably the latter.

My heart raced to a feverish pace and the blood pumping in my ear grew louder by the second. I cautiously looked around the living room to search for her until my eyes fell onto the impassive eyes of a woman that looked like my aunt, only ten years older. Her eyes said it all. She was really pissed.
“We need to talk.” she said grimly.

My heart jumped to my throat. I felt my bile rising up my throat and I had to swallow to keep myself from spewing my stomach content onto the floor. Reluctantly, I pushed myself upright and tried to keep all the jittery under control. I had expected this, I told myself. In fact, I welcomed it. But I would be lying if I said this wasn’t scaring the shit out of me.

“Drink up.” she nodded at the cup of coffee. “I need you clearheaded.”

I picked up the ceramic mug and wrapped my hand lightly around it, using the hot surface to warm up my chilly hands. I eyed the creamy brown liquid before sipping the much needed dose of caffeine in small slurps.

“How’s Laura?” I asked guiltily between the sips. Partly because I was worried for my sister. The other part was to stall my aunt from asking me questions that I didn’t really want to answer.

“She’s fine.” my aunt simply said, as if she knew I was trying to stall the inquisition.

“How long have you known?” my aunt asked when I took my fifth sip. Yes, I counted because I was hoping I could at least finish the coffee before she would begin asking question. Unfortunately, that obviously wasn’t going to happen.

“The night Laura went out with her friends.” I croaked. My heart was pummeling my chest madly.

“So, I wasn’t imagining things when I heard your voice that night.” My aunt groaned, leaning her head back and pressing her index finger and her thumb onto her nose bridge.

I glanced at my aunt and my stomach felt like it was being strangled by some imaginary hands. She seemed so devastated and I suddenly felt a pang of guilt tearing through me. “I’m sorry.” I muttered.

“What are you sorry for?” her voice seemed distant and cold, almost condescending. When I didn’t answer, she leaned forward. “Seriously, Layla. What are you sorry for?”

I shrank away and hoped to hell that I could somehow fit myself in the narrow gaps between the cushions of the couch and disappear. I really didn’t know what I was sorry for. There were quite a few of them if I really tried to recount.

Sorry for breaking into the basement, for causing Laura distress and physical harm, for watching you spank the shit out of Laura while I rub my clit gloriously, for recording the whole thing.

There were practically too many things to be sorry for and it would be kind of suicidal to list them out right this instance when my aunt looked like she would slit a bear’s throat if provoked. Fortunately, that was as far as she went and she didn’t press any further.

She raked a hand through her hair and ruffled the thick brown mane frustratedly. She opened her mouth, like she was about to say something, only to close it back. Finally, Aunt Mary bent over and pressed her face onto her palms.

“Why didn’t you confront me about this?” She sounded hurt. Disappointed, even.

I didn’t answer. What could I say? That I enjoyed watching her doing all sorts of kinky stuff to Laura? That I didn’t want her to stop doing whatever she was doing? That I wanted to be like her? Would that make her proud? Probably not.

Aunt Mary looked at me like she was trying to figure me out and I looked away and took a sip of coffee despite the fact that I no longer had the appetite to finish it anymore. Clearly, this wasn’t going anywhere but I really didn’t want to admit that I was as sick as a psychopath. Perhaps I was one, judging by what I had done.

“Answer me God damn it!” she snapped and half of the content of the mug spilled onto my lap as I jerked in horror.

My heart couldn’t have beaten any faster. It’s like someone was using my heart as a punching bag. I placed the cup onto the table and plucked out a few pieces of tissue from the box on the table to clean myself up. Tears began to well up on my eyes and it certainly wasn’t the hot coffee that caused it.

I forced my tears back down and willed my throat to clamp up. I clutched the crumpled tissue in a tight fist and wished I could turn back time. Despite my best efforts, my body began to convulse and the suppressed sobs seemed to have found a way to escape out of me. Tears flowed down my cheeks before dropping onto my lap.

God, I hated myself for being such a wuss. I couldn’t even bring myself to look at her. So much for the whole welcoming it.

I heard the jingling of keys and then the slamming of the front door. When I looked up, aunt was no longer sitting there. I turned to the window and looked out at the curb and saw her getting into her car. The car roared to a start and screeched off into the road.

No longer able to control, my body trembled and I exploded into a wailing mess of sorrow. My lungs jerked at every breath. My stomach was in knots. My chest felt like someone was performing tap dancing on it. I curled into a tight ball, hugging my knees to my chest and fell onto the couch sideways.

And I let it all out.

I couldn’t even begin to describe how fucked up this was. Me, practically fucking my sister with a mechanized dildo against her will, behind the back of my aunt whom also had been fucking my sister. And my mind felt like it was running in a never ending loop of fucked-up-ness trying to make sense of this morally corrupted shenanigans.

Worst of all, I enjoyed it. And the thought of enjoying something so utterly depraved made my stomach cringed and I cried even harder. My thoughts about myself made me remembered something about Ted Bundy and I wondered if he and I were cut from the same psychopathic cloth too.

I didn’t know how long I cried. I didn’t know how long I had been staying still on the couch. It did feel like an eternity. An eternity filled with guilt and regrets of my wrongdoing. I only realized I hadn’t moved at all until I heard the sound of Aunt Mary’s car pulling into the curb.

My pulse raced as I battled inwardly on whether if I should stay or run upstairs and hide, possibly worsening the situation in the process. When the lock clicked and the knob turned, I had already decided I wouldn’t have enough time to run upstairs, so I stayed.

Aunt Mary walked in with bags of groceries. She went into the kitchen with the stuff, ignoring me completely as she went in. I had never felt so helpless and the internal conflict of leaving or staying continued to rage on. I even considered turning on the TV and hope that the conversation happening inside the screen could somehow render the awkward silence a little more bearable.

As I was about to turn on the TV, my aunt strode back out with a wine glass and a bottle of wine. She went to the basement door, opened it up and went down. Shortly after, she came back up and went back into the kitchen before emerging with jumbo packs of junk food and chocolate bars.
“Follow me.” she snapped without looking at me and went down the basement.

I swallowed down my fear and rose up from the couch. Uncertainly, I crept down the basement one slow step at a time. My heart was pounding like a war drum and I felt like I was entering a lioness’s nest. I mean, she fucked my sister for taking drugs. What I did was definitely worse than that and I couldn’t fathom what sort of punishment she could lay on me.

When I got to the basement, I noticed the trap door behind the stair was already lifted up. I went down the ladder, each step felt like a kick to my stomach as I descended into my imminent doom. Perhaps I should run, I thought to myself. But where? Another tiny voice asked in my head.

Once my feet was on solid ground, I turned around and found my aunt seating on the bed surrounded by the stuff she brought down with her, shoving cheese puffs into her mouth and draining the content of her mouth with a long gulp of wine. Her blank eyes met mine and I couldn’t tell if she was still angry or simply didn’t want to care anymore.

“Close the hatch, will you?” she raised her half-filled glass at the trap door above me. I did as told, climbed a few steps up until I could reach the handle of the trap door and closed it.

When I had my feet planted down on the ground once more, my aunt patted on the bed asking me to sit beside her. Despite my hatred and general abhorrence towards people who drinks, I managed to get myself near her and sat down on the spot she had patted.

“Here.” she tossed me a bar of snickers and shuffled herself further into the bed until her back was against the backrest.

Clueless as to what to do, I tore open the chocolate bar and took a small bite. My aunt took another mouthful of wine. I noticed the redness of her neck while she drank. From the way she talked, I knew she was a little giddy, perhaps even bordering on tipsy but not drunk. Not yet.

“Here.” she handed me the wine glass. “Take a drink.”

“But I’m only eighteen.” I reminded her. Not to mention she just gave me a cup of coffee for me to be clearheaded.

“Right.” she scoffed sarcastically and emptied the content the glass. “Put it there.” she gestured with the glass in hand at the nightstand by the bed. I did as told.

“What do you think about this place?” she asked with forced enthusiasm, as if she wasn’t sure what else to say to me.

“It’s all right. I guess.” I said.

“Right.” she nodded. Once again, silence filled in the spaces between us. The lingering awkwardness grew under the silence. I forced myself to take another small bite to keep myself occupied. After what seemed to be an eternity, Aunt Mary let out a long and solemn sigh.

“You know,” my aunt began, “Laura’s smile reminds of the first time your mom and I did it.” the corner of her mouth lifted into a half-smile. “It’s amazing to what lengths desperate people will go in order to escape reality.” Her eyes met mine. I could see the unshed tears trapped within those eyes.

My heart cringed at the sight of the woman in front of me. I wasn’t sure if it was the guilt within me that was making all my gut twisted, or the fact that my aunt, the woman whom never showed weakness, was about to cry. Not sure what to make of the current situation, I simply nibbled at the chocolate bar religiously and tried not to let the guilt eat me alive.

“Long long time ago.” Aunt Mary began with a shuddery breath. “in a house there were two sisters. The sisters’ father had died recently and their mother remarried to another man.”

I stopped nibbling and my brows knitted into a tight frown.

“This man, unlike their father, never liked the two sisters. He always yelled at them for no apparent reason. Their mother did not dare to protect the two girls from him, fearing that the lost of this new husband of hers would mean that she had to work.”

“Day by day, the yelling slowly transitioned to hitting. It was subtle at first. A hard smack on the head one day, a cigarette bud extinguished on the skin the next, a hard slap across the face. A kick on the back.

“Of course, the elder sister could not let her little sister get hurt. So, she would always try to cover her little sister under her when the beating started. No matter how hard he kicked or how much it hurt, the elder sister made sure that he never touched her little sister.”

I clenched my fists, the nails biting into my palm. The chocolate bar broke into two under the strength of my clenched fingers. I never knew my mom and aunt were abused during childhood.

“The little sister always asked why after the beating. Why would she protect her?” Aunt Mary scoffed reminiscently. Her eyes staring into a distance.

“Why?” I muttered. Hair on the back of my head prickled at the unsettling details of my mother and aunt’s past.

“Because she loved her.” she crawled to the edge of the bed and picked up the bottle of wine from the nightstand. With a strong tug, the cork popped free. “Grab me the glass, will you?”

I took the glass and passed it to her. She took it with her free hand and then poured the content of the bottle into it.

“Feeling guilty for being defended all the time, the little sister thought up a plan.” she smiled briefly at me as the glass was filled. “She knew the elder sister needed to let off a little steam. The anger was building up inside the elder sister after every beating and there’s no where for that anger to go.” she took a quick gulp from the bottle before carefully plugging it with the cork. She passed the bottle to me and I placed the bottle on the nightstand.

“One night, the little sister brought the elder sister down to the basement. The little sister handed the elder sister a long cane before assuming a kneeling position and told the elder sister to hit her. The elder sister was shocked, naturally. She could never hurt her little sister and was very disappointed at her little sister for doing something like this.” There was a pause and when I looked up, I saw something in my aunt’s eyes. Happiness.

“What happened?” I couldn’t help but to ask.

“The little sister told the elder sister that if she didn’t hit her, she would truly be hurting her. So, the elder sister did what the little sister wanted.” Aunt Mary drained the remaining wine from the glass. “At first, she resisted. Her lashes were weak and uncertain. Then, she grew to like it, like the way she was in control, like the way she was the one hitting and not the one being hit, and most of all, the elder sister like the way the little sister cried under the harsh caning. The thought disturbed her, of course, and she thought the little sister was going to despise her then. But that’s not the case. The little sister did not hate her. Instead, the little sister smiled at her and told her to go on. So it went on. Each time their stepfather hit the elder sister, the little sister would allow to be caned later that night.”

“As the years went by, whips and crops were added. Chains and shackles were used. And amount of clothing became lesser in an attempt to widen the power gap between the control and the controlled. And before the two of them knew it, they had just become the perfect domme and sub.”

“My mother was the sub.” I asked. It was more like a statement than a question.

“Yes. Indeed she was. I miss her a lot.” she mustered a weak smile. “Your mother, Layla. I miss her.” she placed the glass on the table and grabbed me in for a hug. For a moment, I didn’t know what to do. The emotion I felt from my aunt was palpable and I could only stay in silence. There’s just so much question I wanted to ask about my mom but somehow I knew now wasn’t the moment to ask.

“I’m sorry, Layla. I’m sorry for bringing you two into this fucked-up kink your mother and I had.” she sobbed into my shoulder.

I raised my arms and caressed her back as what would a normal person do in that situation.”I’m sorry too. I should have told you.” I said guiltily.

My aunt let off a chuckle before moving me away. Tears covered her cheeks. “No, Layla. I don’t see how you could. And it’s really not your fault. It’s mine. I was angry at myself. When I learned that you knew but never reported on me, I was even angrier because I have corrupted you. I’ve turned you into me. I was taking it out on you because I was ashamed of myself. For being a bad example, you know. I promised your mom to take care of you two. And I have failed her. I’m sorry.”

My aunt pulled me in for another tight hug. Whatever my mother and aunt had between them, the abused they endured, made me understand her a little and to some extent, respected her even more. It didn’t matter whose fault it was at that moment. It didn’t matter what she did to Laura was right or wrong. All that mattered to me was that we were still one family and we understood each other. With a wry smile, I whispered the only words I knew to say at the moment.

“I guess it is heredity.”

Chapter 9

I eased onto my chair as I placed my bag on top of the desk. There was still a few minutes before the first period and the classroom looked like it always did when the teacher wasn’t here. The flea market.

My stomach still quivered at the thought of having hurt my sister, but the talk with Aunt Mary yesterday had, with the lack of words, alleviated some of those kink. No pun intended. After talking for hours with her and getting to know all about the world of BDSM, all that I did to Laura, all that happened these past few days, didn’t feel bizarre anymore. Hell, it almost felt like family picnic or a trip to the swimming pool or something. Something like a family tradition, and albeit slightly out of line from the current morality held by today’s society, I almost felt like by doing this, I was somehow becoming a part of the family.

The jealousy towards Laura’s special attention she received from my aunt no longer put any proverbial vice around my psyche. I no longer felt like I was the third party, the peeping tom, and to a certain extent the party crasher. However weird it was, I felt like I was accepted into a group and found somewhere that I belonged.

After telling Aunt Mary of my dreams of Amanda, and her witnessing of my sadistic tendency, she had agreed to teach me the art of BDSM. Believe it or not, BDSM was actually an art. Fuck me right? I wondered what sort of art I could turn Amanda into? Perhaps an arching hogtie? With a dildo deep inside her wonderfully spread pussy? And a butt plug right in her…

“Where were you yesterday?” Amanda came out of nowhere. All thoughts was hastily shoved under the proverbial corner of my head.
“W-what.” I croaked and felt my cheek began to warm up.

“What’s wrong? You sick again?” she frowned, her beautiful blue eyes glimmered with concern.

“No. I’m fine.” I looked away from her. I had to lest I couldn’t stop myself from thinking more of her wearing leather cuffs and nipple clamps.
“So where were you?” she repeated the question as she took the seat beside me.

I didn’t lie well under duress so I said the first thing that came into my mind. “Laura’s been admitted.”

“What? What happened?” she gasped and I wanted to kill myself right then.

“She uh…she had a stomach flu.” Damn was that a lame reason.

“I hope she get well soon.” she said. I awaited her next words in distress and after she grabbed her bag and took out her textbook, I almost sighed in relief as she said to me, “Here’s yesterday’s homework. I’ve marked it.”

Thank god she did not ask to visit. I couldn’t imagine what would happen if she did. It’s not like I can ask my aunt if my best friend could tag along to this ‘art’ club of hers to pay Laura a visit and later on found out that the reason Laura was admitted because I fucked her up too much. I would have to come up with excuses and now, I wasn’t in the right condition to make one up.

Amanda was simply too distracting. Despite the baggy jeans and the unappealing sweatshirt she had on her, I had never failed to notice the beauty beneath the dull fabric like most guys did. I had seen it with my own eyes during one of the many occasion inside the safety of the female toilets. I was surprised to say the least, when I first spotted the D’s she were rocking underneath those ungodly clothing she always wore. She had a nice ass too if it weren’t for those jeans ruining everything.

“Why do you always wear like your grandpa?” I asked. It would have been nice if she could put on something from this century. And I wasn’t joking either. One would be surprised by the similarity of choice of outfit after looking at her family photo.

“No, I do not.” she argued.

“Yes you do. Sweatshirt. Baggy jeans. It’s like you are trying not to stand out or something.” I said as I studied her face which was partially covered by the slightly out of touch blond wavy mane. Her lips looked delectable from this side and an image of her munching on my pussy flashed in front of me.

“Maybe I am.” she said playfully.

“You know, I would pay money to see you in a mini dress.” I said before realizing how inappropriate that was. A sudden tingly sensation swarmed my nether region as the image of Amanda in skimpy glittering black outfit, breasts barely covered, half of her pretty ass exposed, formed in my head.

“Yeah right, and do I have to bend over and let you stuff a two dollar bill between my cleavage too? Or should I ditch the panties and give you a show.” she scoffed sarcastically. To my embarrassment, I almost say yes. Almost. On the bright side, at least I wasn’t the only one affected because Bill a seat in front of us snapped backwards and said to her that he would gladly do so. Amanda rolled her eyes and told our little eavesdropping friend to piss off.

Class began soon after and fortunately so. I was about to have my panties changed if the talk of how Amanda should dress went on. Even as Mr. Gilbert, our history teacher, began to drone on about the Aztec and the Spanish Conquistador, I still needed to try really hard not to conjure up kinky images of Amanda.
Since today was Tuesday, Amanda only shared the first two periods with me. After she left for advanced placement in math, I was alone again and it was much easier not to think of her anymore.

The rest of the day went on like it used to. Boring lectures after boring lectures. I took some notes but it really was just some scribbling on my notebook. In fact, I spent half of the day wondering about Laura and her recovery. The other half I spent on thinking of the things Aunt Mary was going to teach me. When I thought about the stuff I was going to learn, I was giddy, and well, really really horny. I tried not to imagine things too much as I didn’t want to wet my panties and judging by how horny my imagination could quickly become, my panties getting wet was the least of my worries.

When school was over, Aunt Mary came to fetch me back. At first, I thought it was going to be awkward, with all that ‘fucking’ going on in the house, like literally. And even though after our talk yesterday night, I still wasn’t entirely sure if my aunt was really going to be open with me about everything that she had come to know. But when she came to me with a smile and asked me of my school like any parent would ask to her child, the awkwardness melted away. It was just like how it used to be.

The ride home was rather enlightening as I asked her about her clients. She didn’t really tell me much, due to the confidentiality she had agreed on, but she did share some sordid details with me like how many customers she had to take care of on a day.

“That really depends. If things are slow, perhaps two or three. But during peak seasons, eight.” she shrugged.

“There are peak seasons?” I asked incredulously.

“Christmas, Thanksgiving.” she wagged her brows. “Halloween.”

I burst into laughter. “Halloween? Do you have to put on a costume.”

“I was once dressed as the Wicked Queen from Snow White.” she laughed.

“And let me guess, Snow White had her ass spanked.” I said.

“Not at all.” she shook her head purposefully. “It was the huntsman.”

“What? I thought you only deal with girls.” I snorted in disbelief. I thought my aunt was all gals and no guys. But then again, I never really knew my aunt. It was comforting to talk to my aunt so casually about her dealings. And I got the feeling that she too enjoyed telling them to me, like she finally had someone to share the things she did. For years she had been with us, this was the first time she actually felt more like a bestfriend to me than a caregiver.

“Well, I do need something alive in me once in a while.” her lips quirked up at the corner. “Speaking of that, have you? You know. Done it?”

“You mean have I done it with a guy?”

“Yes. Have you?”

“No.” I shook my head. Albeit my brazen behavior I displayed on my sister, I was never really sexually driven before that night down in the basement. “Would you want me to try?”

“I wouldn’t personally want you to try. No.” she laughed. “Your mother would roll in her grave.”

“I think after what had happened, she probably already did.” my stomach twisted at the disapproving look my mother would have if she’s still alive.
“Yes. She probably did.” my aunt’s voice turned soft, almost sorry. “But she would be happy as long as you are.”

I drew in a deep breath and decided that what’s done was done. There’s no point crying over spill milk. After a short moment of silence, I finally asked the question that had long plagued me since yesterday. “Aunt Mary, how did my mother meet my father?”

Aunt Mary let out a short laugh and shook her head in disbelief. “Well, she met him in the club.”

“That club?”

“Yes. Sweetheart. That club.”

“Did my father hit my mother?” I speculated only to realize how badly that sounded. “I mean, like the way you hit Laura. You know.” I quickly added. My dad loved my mom to death. I could remember the smiles they had for each others when they were still alive and I knew they couldn’t have faked those.

My aunt looked at me as if she was trying to gauge my reaction. Perhaps she was trying to see if I was ready for the answer. When she was satisfied with what she saw, she nodded.

“Yes, Layla. You dad hit your mom all the time. And she loved it.” she said reminiscently.

“Even after we were born?” curiosity had piqued me and it would be a shame to just stop asking from there.

“Even while your mom was carrying Laura.”

“Shit.” I hissed in disbelief.

“Language, Layla.”

“But she was pregnant.” I ignored the her maternal warning. To think my dad would hit my mom while she was pregnant was simply too much.

“There are plenty of ways to ‘hit’ someone, Layla. Some ways are purely to cause pain. While others would make people like your mom beg for more. Your dad could whip your mom all day and she would still be begging for it.”

I found that hard to believe. But even as I questioned the morality of it, it did sound kind of kinky to be spanked while carrying a child. I wouldn’t really want it but it would be a lie if I said I wouldn’t even consider trying it. My mom, on all four, being whipped by my dad all over her body. I shivered at the thought.
“Do you want to try it?” I heard my aunt asked and something churned inside me.

“L-like…Laura?” I croaked nervously.

“Yes. Like Laura. All bound and naked and exposed, blindfolded and gagged.” she gave me a knowing smile. “And trapped under the house for the whole night.”

My pussy clenched at the thought. I would have pressed my thighs together if my aunt wasn’t constantly looking over me. My nipples, on the other hand, betrayed me like two little traitors they were. My aunt obviously saw them as she gave me a small grin.

“B-but I thought you want to teach me the art of BDSM.” I tried to stay calm but my voice cracked mid sentence.

“To learn, you first need to experience.” her face then darkened. “A domme with no experience is like a toddler with a gun. Sooner or later, you are going to get someone killed. It’s far too easy for an inexperience domme to take things overboard. You need to feel it first hand in order to emphatize with the sub. And when you can truly feel what they feel and how they want to feel, that’s when you will be a good domme. And a safe one at that too.” she elaborated with an air of confidence, as if this wasn’t the first time she had given such talk.

“O-okay.” I stuttered. “B-but, can I keep my underwear on?” Both fear and anticipation coursed through my body and I believed the latter was quickly winning over the former.

After some deep consideration, my aunt nodded. The conversation ended there and I had this feeling that the silence was deliberate. Without conversations to distract me from my growing uneasiness, my body slowly warmed as lust crept into my core. I could only keep my breathing as controlled as possible despite the fact that my heart was pounding like a chinese war drum. My aunt, the very woman sitting right next to me, was going to give me the beating that I would never forget.

Chapter 10

When we got home, my aunt brought me some meat loaf. I always liked her meatloaf. It was juicy, unlike most people who tended to overcook them and drying the good piece of meat until it had the same texture as wood chips. But today, I had no appetite to stomach that piece of juicy goodness. My mind was burning itself out and my stomach felt like a flock of seagulls, high on crack, fluttering their wings.

“I’m not hungry.” I said while trying to keep my legs from pressing against one another.

“You need to eat, Layla.” she said without looking away from the dishes that she’s washing.

“But how can I eat when….when…”

“When what?” she turned around with a quirked lips.

“When…” When I know you are going to whip me. I couldn’t finish the sentence. It was too embarrassing to even say that because here I was, sitting right next to a woman whom wanted to spank the shit out of me, and felt all horny anticipating for it.

“Layla, you will need to finish you meal. Or you will regret it.” the last words were laced with so much threat I shivered at the sound of them.

Knowing what my aunt was capable, I didn’t dare to try and find out. So, I stuffed a piece of meatloaf into my mouth and downed it with some orange juice. After finishing my meal, leaving only a piece of deformed tomato at the side, I gave my aunt the plate for her to wash.

“Go up stairs and get a shower. Don’t wash your hair.” she gave my ass a light swat as she shooed me from the kitchen counter. Even though the swat meant affection, I still felt the electricity eminating from the spot she touched. “And one more thing, Layla.”

“Yes?”

“Don’t touch yourself.” she said with a smirk.

I blushed instantly and before I could embarrass myself in front of my aunt, I ran up the stairs. I took a quick shower, seeing that I would most likely be sweating again real soon, I didn’t bother to slather my body with products. I did however washed my body with soap because I didn’t want to smell like a wet dog while being whipped.

The underwear selection was a little tricky though. I didn’t want to put on a flimsy cotton underwear that looked like I bought it for a criminal discount.

Technically, my aunt bought it. Nevertheless, I didn’t want to look too shabby for my first BDSM experience. So I picked a cute light green panties with a half cup matching bra to go on with. A short denim pants and a round neck t-shirt completed the ensemble and I was good to go.

When I got down, my aunt was no longer in the kitchen. I looked around a bit but the empty house soon suggested one possibility. She was down at the basement. And true enough, the door to the basement was unlocked. I took the stairs down and each steps felt like my heart was going to explode. I was, after all, walking into a lioness den.

As I walked past the leather covered bench, I was reminded of Laura’s experience during that night. Her pussy was spanked, whipped, and penetrated with an assortment of tools right on this very bench. Her red and sore pussy was indicative of Aunt Mary’s mercy, which was rarely seen during the days she spent with Laura. But then again, Laura didn’t really beg for mercy anyway.

I saw the open hatch and approached it with caution. I looked down at the ladder steps, each iron bar lower was me nearer to getting my ass covered with welts. Did I want this? Was this even right? My brain screamed for me to run the other way. But my heart and pussy both anchored me to the desire I so truly wanted to fulfill. Sucking in a deep breath, I climbed down to the secret room.

When I turned around, my stomach knotted. Aunt Mary, doned in a bright red leather minidress that allowed an ample view of her breasts and her luscious legs, stood proudly on her matching high heels. She had put on some make up, making her seemed even more frightening. A riding crop bent between her iron clad grips.

Despite the dominating aura coming off her that could have warned preys five miles away, I couldn’t help but to gravitate towards her. My legs walked by themselves, my hands gripping at the hem of my shirt, and my mind couldn’t think straight.

“You look stunning. Aunt Mary.” I complimented breathlessly as I approached her.

“Thank you. Layla.” she tilted her head and flipped her hair back like it was some shampoo ads. “Now, strip.”

I swallowed hard. My nipples, tamed by the shower I just took, once again hardened into tight nubs. My pussy cliched at the emptiness and my heart fluttered madly in my chest.

First, I took off my t-shirt, revealing my half cup bras. I dropped the shirt to the ground before unbuttoning my denim shorts. My fingers trembled in anticipation, making the unbuttoning rather challenging. It didn’t make it easy when the air in the secret room seemed to have dropped several degrees. When I got the button off, I pulled down my pants and then stepped out of it.

“Good. Come here.” she motioned with her index finger.

I went to her. Even though I was still in my underwear, something my aunt had seen me in countless of times, I was still unbelievably embarassed. My cheek flamed up despite my best efforts to calm down.

“Do you trust me?” she asked.

“Y-yes.” I struggled with the word.

“Good. Now, show me your hands.”

I did as told. My aunt pulled out a leather handcuff and began strapping them around my wrists.

“Do you know why we don’t use police handcuffs?” she asked while deligently easing the strap into the buckle.

“No. Why?” I asked breathily.

“So that the sub doesn’t hurt herself during the struggle.” she casted me a wicked smile and my stomach dropped.

Once she had my wrists secured, she grabbed one of the overhead chains, which I always had thought to be some kind of decor to set the mood, and pulled it down. Skillfully, she wound the chain around the link of the cuffs a couple of times and the locked the chain with a clip that mountain climbers often used.
“When using chains, make sure the chain is properly secure.” she tugged on the chain and my hands jerked forward. “And always, Layla, always have a professional to install the pulley system for you.” she planted a chaste kiss on my forehead.

She walked a few steps back and took the remote by the nightstand. When she pressed a button, a soft whirring sound permeated the room and the chain slowly being pulled up. I tried to fight the pull but it was much more stronger than me. Soon, my hands were pulled up and before I knew it, I was on my toes.
“I never see you use this on Laura before.” I remarked with surprised.

“There are plenty of things in this room that you don’t know. Layla.” she said curtly while wasting no time to shackle my ankles. With a press of the control, I felt a tug on both of my ankles. Shockingly, they were tugged apart. I yelped in surprise as I felt more and more expose. When the chains stopped tugging, my legs were so wide apart that I was barely touching the ground anymore.

With my legs far apart and my panties barely the protection against whatever Aunt Mary had planned for me, my pussy began to wet itself. I tried to struggle but the restraints felt superbly robust. Almost like it could hold a full grown man, let alone a petite blond girl like me.

“Now, here’s a ballgag.” she held one end of the strap, leaving the ball punctuated with holes dangled in front of me. “These holes are so that sub can breath easily. Especially when they start to cry. When you cry, your nose gets blocked. Without proper ventilation, a sub can suffer much more than she bargained for. You can always use alternatives like pieces of cloth or good old fashion duct tape, but only if you are sure that your sub is entirely okay with it and that she will not cry. If she cries, you pull off the gag, understood?”

I nodded.

“I’m going to put this on you. It taste a little like…well…like plastic.” she pressed the ball against my lips. I opened my mouth and took in the ball. She went behind me and began fastening the straps. While she tightened the ball around me, I tested out her explanation. Despite the tightness, I could really breath normally through my mouth. And it really did taste like plastic.

I tried to speak and was astounded by the unintelligible sound coming out of my mouth. My tongue was pressed down and it was slightly uncomfortable to have my tongue not able to move like it used to. I kept gnashing on the ball too with it being such a tight fit. And all these new experiences excited me more than watching Laura getting fucked.

“And here’s the blindfold.” she whipped a piece of black cloth around my eyes and the world instantly turned dark. When she was done, I couldn’t believe how much I began to feel the surround.

The slowly moving air in the room coursed through my half naked body, sending tingles all over my body. The slow breathing sound from my aunt as well as mine told me that there’s really no one here other than us. That there’s no one else that could help me and I was at the mercy of my aunt.

“Now that we have this little sub tightly bound and secure,” her voice circled around me, “where should I whip first?”

Her voice reverberated through my skin and every strand of nerve stood at attention for an impending strike. Where? That was a good question. I really didn’t know. And not knowing where she would hit made me even more aware of my surrounding.

My pussy cried in pain as the tip of the crop landed on it with a smack. I yelped in surprised. The leather cuffs bit into my skin as I squirmed in pain and pleasure.

“Your panties is soaked, my little pet.” she whispered into my ear, the tip of the crop was run along the crevice of my wet sex.

The crop disappeared and soon after, a loud smack echoed across the room. It took me a while to realize where I was hit. The sting on my ass slowly burned and as the pain took form, the crop landed on my unprotected pussy once more. My thighs shook uncontrollably trying to shield my feminine flesh. The futile attempt only invoked another smack right in the middle of it.

I trembled and anticipated for another strike as the crop left my skin, but was strangely disappointed when the crop landed uneventfully on my stomach. I should have screamed and yelled for help. This was morally wrong and I should want to run away. Yet, each kiss of the crop only made me even wetter.
“Do you like that, pet?” My aunt cooed. The crop glided precariously along the midsection of my stomach.

I nodded my head and was quickly awarded with a smack on my stomach. The smack was so hard, I squealed in a mixture of agony and delight. Two of which I had no idea could be so invigorating when mixed. Not able to see made things even more unpredictable and more so deliciously better. My pussy was literally dripping right now as I felt wetness gliding down my thighs.

“My my, your pussy is leaking, dear. Let’s see if we can stop it.” I felt her warm breath on my stomach. The length of the crop was pressed against my slit. When the crop was pulled back, my body tensed for the impact. Sure enough, a loud smack punctuated the silence in the room and my pussy felt like it was burning.

Then, in succession, my back was showered with smacks. Each smack harder than the last, causing me to mewl louder into the gag. Then, my thighs were next. Inner and outer, it didn’t matter as she peppered them with the crop and when she was done, landing dozens of redspots all over my body, I was panting and writhing in heat.

“Let’s see how big you’ve grown.” she said cryptically. I didn’t know what she was talking about until my bras fell off and my hard nipples were exposed to the cold air.

“That’s a C, pet.” she gauged, grabbing my left breast in her tight grip. The pad of her thumb brushed across my nipples. Tiny fireworks erupted between my legs and I really didn’t care if she had pulled my bras off right that instance.

With my breasts now no longer protected by the sturdy cups of the bras, my aunt brought the wrath of the crop down upon them. I whimpered at each smack, particularly louder when the crop hit my sensitive nipples. When she was done with reddening my breasts, she grabbed one of them and ran her tongue over the one of them. I almost came right there and then. But the tight squeeze of my breast reminded that I had no control over my body. My aunt was the one in control.

The neglected nipple, however, was not met with the same treatment. My aunt ran her fingers over the tight nub, and once she had the nub between her index finger and thumb, she pinched hard on it. I yelped at the agony induced pleasure as both of my nipples were subjected to opposite forces.

“That was your punishment for hurting Laura.” she said as she released my tormented nipple. “Now, let’s have some fun down there.”

I writhed listening to her deep voice. My pussy quivered, almost as if it was begging to be attended to. Every inch of my skin prickled with unreleased lust, waiting for the right moment, for the right source of ignition, to combust.

Then, my blindfold was pulled off. The piercing light blinded me momentarily. As my eyes adjusted to the brightness, the gag was also pulled off from my mouth. Once I could see again, I saw a pair of scissors in my aunt’s hand. On the other hand was a pink device that looked like a tiny little weird dumbbell with one side of it missing.

“Do you want me to cut your panties?” she said with a dark tone. A tone that promised even more pleasure.

I nodded profusely.

“No, pet. Tell me what you want.” she growled.

“Cut my panties.” I breathlessly said.

“Said it properly, pet. I’m your mistress. How do you beg?”

The submissive image of my sister zipped through my mind.

“Please, Mistress. Please cut my panties.” I mewled helplessly.

“Good, pet.” she said and pulled my panties by the waistband. With two quick snips, my panties was yanked out from my wet crotch and brought in front of me. “Look at the mess you’ve made.”

The entire section of the panties was soaked. I writhed helplessly at the sight of the testament to my arousal.

“Open your mouth.” she demanded. She shoved the wet cloth into my mouth until I was once again gagged. “That’s the taste of you pussy.”

It was salty and musty. And there’s a little weird flavor that I had never tasted before. A slight bitterness perhaps? I didn’t know. But I certainly didn’t mind tasting my own arousal. In fact, it only made me even wetter between my legs.

“This is a modified Hitachi wand.” she brought the pink object and waved it in front of me. When she clicked on the switch, the head of the tiny device vibrated violently. My pussy clenched and I wasn’t sure it wanted it or afraid of it. Probably both.

“They invented this to help old people massage their own back.” she shrugged. “But some folks decided to put it between their legs and voila, you have the most popular sex toy in the world.”

“I have a full size Hitachi Wand in there somewhere.” she nodded at the cabinet that she kept all her tools. “Do you know why I chose a small one?” she asked salaciously while running the vibrating head from one nipple to the other.

I shook my head and closed my eyes, wanting to experience the oblivion brought by the blindfold a moment ago. I felt the vibrating head moved lower and lower and lower, leaving a trail of sweet burning sensation along the length of my body, until it passed my navel, and only then did I understand her question. I opened my eyes wide and stared at the vibrating head that’s moving further away from my eyes and nearer to my wet pussy. That thing didn’t look so tiny anymore.

“Don’t worry, it will fit.” she remarked, running the buzzing head along my wet crevice. I jerked against the restraints, my muscles contracted involuntarily, as the angry head glided over my clitoris.

“Are you ready, pet?” she murmured salaciously. The vibrating tip was pressed against my wet opening, poised for penetration.

I swallowed down a rising nervousness. Am I ready? Of course not! But it didn’t matter whether or not if I was ready. The question was, would Aunt Mary spare my pussy from the violent looking device? The answer to that question was quickly revealed when the vibrator sank into me, burrowed inside my puckered pussy.

I arched my back and squealed through my panties. My entire body shuddered at the forceful invasion. I could see white and almost thought I was going to pass out. When my aunt pulled it back out, my body felt like it had lost all its energy and my head hanged on my shoulder.

“When your hole is a little more…used…we will go with the real wand.” she suggested and pushed the vibrating head back inside. My pussy clenched around the angry thing as if it was fighting for its life. Then, climax began to form over the horizon as my arousal was brought to a feverish peak. I looked down at my aunt, whom was kneeling right now, and watched her hand undulating between my legs. The mean vibrator glided in and out of those tormented lips.

“Do you want to come?” she asked patronizingly. So much so that a normal person would be offended without a doubt. But, clearly, I was not a normal person.
I nodded profusely as my body trembled with need. Yes, I fucking need an orgasm. I would have shouted that if my mouth wasn’t gagged.

“Then, come. My pet.” when those words hit me, my body shook violently to a point the chains rattled. And then, as if being possessed, I arched my back, my eyes rolled back, and a low guttural sound that I didn’t believe I could make reverberated through my panties. My pussy erupted, stream of transparent fluid gushed out of my pussy as orgasm was forced out of me.

“Look at the mess you’ve made, Layla.” she smirked.

When the orgasm died down, my head hung forwards and I fell. The only thing keeping me up was my restraints. My eyes fluttered to stay open. I saw my aunt, still kneeling, still toying with my pussy. When she realized that my orgasm was already long ended, she killed the vibrator and set it on the floor.
“Let’s see how much more juice we can get out of you.” she said, her eyes transfixed on my nether region. Then, as if mesmerized by it, she drew closer in between my legs. Her lips puckered out and I felt it. I felt her warm breath flowing through the wet skin between my legs. I felt the tenderness of her lips pressing against my opening. From the top looking down, it was almost as if she was making out with my pussy.

Then, she truly did make out with it. Her tongue pushed into the slick flesh and religiously tasting my inside. I hissed in pure pleasure, my body once again was brought to its former aroused state. The shackles around my ankles only served as a reminder that I couldn’t stop this even if I wanted to. And I didn’t want to stop this.

I closed my eyes and enjoyed the movement inside me, tasting me, feeling me, touching me. When the tip of the tongue touched a certain part of me, I jerked involuntarily.

“That’s your g-spot. Pet.” she remarked tentatively before resuming her affection for my spread pussy. Her lips parted mine, her tongue drove deeper into me. And when she had tasted the depth, she surfaced for the flesh, sucking in my vulva in between her lips hard before letting it go with a pop.

It went on and on and when my body soon reached its climax, I came once again and a smaller amount of fluid shot out from my opening. Aunt Mary simply mouthed over my opening, trapping every last drop of it inside her. She didn’t stop there though. She parted my pussy with her fingers, only to stuck her tongue further down to draw out the last few drops of my juice.

“Such lovely pussy. You sure you want to become a domme?” my aunt stood up and met me in the eyes.

The very question that I had asked myself rather frequently ever since that night Laura was here was suddenly compellingly profound. I didn’t know being a sub could be even more enjoyable than being a domme. Yes, the domme had control, but it was the sub that truly felt everything in the relationship. After the two epic orgasms, I almost wanted to change my mind. Almost. However, I wanted Amanda to be my sub more. So I shook my head.

“Shame. You would have made a good sub.” she shrugged and the sound of vibration once again permeated the silence. I looked down and saw the pink little mean thing was alive in Aunt Mary’s hand. I quickly looked at her and shook my head. Two epic orgasms was already one too many!

“I’ve been dealing with pussies when you weren’t even born yet, pet.” she whispered into my ear, one arm around my waist and holding me tight. The vibrating head was pressed against my already sore pussy. “Let me tell you a secret. It takes much more to break a pussy.”

The vibrator plunged deep inside me.

“Much.”

I jerked upwards at another forceful plunge.

“Much.”

My pussy gaped at another hard blow.

“More.”

The vibrator slammed onto my cervix.

Chapter 11

I woke up and found myself naked on the bed. One quick look around me was enough to make me realize that I was still in the secret room. Clumsily, I shuffled out of the comfort of the soft mattress and tip-toed across the frigid floor to reach my clothes, which were placed neatly on top of the cabinet. I grabbed the cellphone from the pocket of my denim pants and was shocked by the time displayed on the screen. It was already eleven o’clock. That meant I had slept through the entire afternoon.

Once I’d put on my clothes, much to my dismay that I wasn’t wearing any panties, I went up the ladder. My shoulders ached at each step I climbed and the ache reminded me of what had transpired within this secret confinement several hours ago. As I walked up the flight of stairs my thighs protested at every step of the way. I could hear sound of conversations coming from the living room. I opened the door and poked my head through the gap and saw my aunt sitting on the couch watching something on the television.

She was in her usual nightwear, a short jogging pants and a pajamas top. The blatantly outlandish latex minidress was gone and the once domineering woman had disappeared, in her wake was an ordinary woman that seemed like she wouldn’t even hurt a fly. When she saw me, her lips curved into a warm smile.

“Come here.” she patted on the cushion beside hers.

This woman had seen be naked and had smacked the living hell out of me with a riding crop just hours ago. How could she feel so calm about it? Her demure demeanor only made me more aware of my embarrassment. With my head hung low, I lumbered towards her while trying my best not to blush.
“How are you feeling?” she asked while looking up and down my body with concern.

“Not too bad. A little ache here and there.” I muttered.

“Only a little?” she cocked an eye.

“My crotch ached more than just a little though.” I bit my lips in embarrassment.

“I guess it should. You did come six times.” she gave me a knowing smile and my stomach quivered at the memory.

“In my defense, I didn’t want that.” I protested and it was the truth. “I didn’t really have a choice with all my limbs securely bound.”

“Oh, but you did enjoy it, didn’t you?” she chuckled.

“Well. Like I say, I didn’t have a choice.” I felt my face grew warmer as blood rushed in.

“Okay, sweetheart. You didn’t have a choice.” she patted on my head. “That aside, your shoulders, how do they feel?”

“A little bit stiff.” I rolled my shoulders to make a point.

“Stiff is good. As long as it’s not painful, that should be fine. Now, here’s what you should know about the human body.” she turned on her seat so that she was now facing me directly. I did the same too and faced her. “Other than your head, every extension of your body should always be lower than your heart. For instance, I had your arms raised above your head. How did they feel after a while? A little numb? A little achy?”

I nodded.

“That’s because your heart is not evolved to supply blood with your hands above your head, at least not for long periods of time. The reason you feel numb is because your blood oxygen level in your raised limbs is no longer optimal. Prolong raising of arms can lead to numbness and sometimes it can also cause build up of lactic acid, leading to muscle aches. Furthermore, with only your arms supporting the weight of your entire body like how I did to you, shoulder injuries can and will happen without proper supervision. Always remember not to leave a suspended sub unattended. “

“Okay.” I said.

“BDSM is a power play. Not a game of death. So, any sort of activity that will result in immediate danger should never be attempted. Do you understand?”
“Yes.” I nodded.

“Good.” she moved her index finger in a circular motion. “Turn around.”

I did and as soon as my back was facing my aunt, two skillful hands began to massage my shoulder blades. I sighed as the ache gradually faded into a soothing warmth.

“Alright, a little intro into BDSM. I’m sure you know what BDSM stands for, am I right?”my aunt said as her knuckles began to run up and down along my spine, leaving a trait of godly relief in their wake.

I nodded again. Bondage Domination Sadism Masochism.

“But do you know why it feels so good to act on it?”

I shook my head.

“There are many reasons but according to evolutionary psychologists, being dominant and being submissive are the most integral parts of mating during the dawn of our species. Before marriage was even a thing, before humans could even say anything intelligible, much less to declare their affection through those three little words we used so ubiquitously, there are two ways man could get a woman to reproduce with him. Firstly, the man showed himself as a viable mate, usually through the display of wealth or social standing, and attracted the heart of the object of his affection. Secondly, which also tended to be the more prevailing method between the two, was to take her by force.

“While chiefs and their cronies attracted countless of women into their harem with crates of resources under the arbitrary throne in which they sat on, the vast majority of men could not afford such privilege. Seeing as how nature tends to do the things that requires the least energy and that humans are born from nature, it is only natural for us to do the things the same way as nature does. Raping certainly required much less energy than hording in resources and accumulating social standing. In short, men raped, or to put it in a more historically correct term, dominated their mates.

“Women, over the time of being used as reproductive tool, evolved over time as well since only the more submissive woman could actually be impregnated, bearing child of a dominant man, while the more aggressive ones were either killed or ran off. These dominant men and submissive women were our ancestors by large. We inherited their traits, their DNAs and therefore in part, we inherited their psychological behavior.

“Of course, taking a woman by force in today’s time and age would most certainly result in the man being jailed and because of that it was no longer ‘energetically’ viable for a man to simply rape a woman to reproduce. But the imprint of our ancestors are still there. We are still the slave of our primal instinct. The very instinct that has ensured the survival of our species up till this date. The very instinct that is etched irrevocably into our DNA.

“That is not to say that there isn’t any dominant woman at all out there. I am a prime example of that. The Poisson’s distribution of human sexual traits always has an upper and lower percentile; no matter how small the chances are, there’s bound to be some out there that doesn’t fit the general trend. By that same logic, there are submissive men too, since not all men are created equal.” I heard her chuckled from behind and I couldn’t help but to smile at the sexual innuendo of men’s penis sizes.

“So, BDSM isn’t just an act of the wicked minded, as most of the society is quickly to judge as such, but rather it’s a way of peering into the sexual behavior of our ancestors, to let out our most carnal desire shaped through eons of reproductive succession forged between the dominant and the submissive. We are the result of that and BDSM is one of the relic of our distant past. Reliving that relic gives us a sense of familiarity so deeply profound to us that we couldn’t help but to be enthralled by it. That’s why it feels good, Layla. To control and to be controlled.”

I gaped at my aunt for what must be a very long time because my aunt laughed.

“It’s just like you’ve said, it’s heredity. ” my aunt quipped. “It’s hard to understand for now. But in time, Layla, those words will make sense.”

“Okay.” I nodded but not entirely convinced that I will be able to understand all that had been said. I knew we evolved from monkeys. Everything else, like how psychology is forged through evolution, was completely beyond my comprehension.

“Here, lie down on the couch.” she stood up from her seat, emptying the couch for me. I did as told and lie on my stomach. Her skillful hands once again found my back and the massage continued. I shuddered in delight at each delicious movement of her hands.

“Let’s talk about something else then. Let’s see. Yes. There are a few types of subs.” Aunt Mary began. “There are those that prefer soft core. A spank here and whip there is all there’s to their kinky sexual preferences. These subs prefer things to be slow and sensual. And they love being touched.”

She got that right. I moaned again at her touch.

“Then there are those that can handle a little more punishment.” she elaborate further. “Nipple clamps and electric shocks are in the list of devices they preferred. When being caned, they want to have their skin ridden with deep welts. Being fucked hard, really hard, much harder than what I did to you this afternoon, was their way of having a good time. Usually, they have a knack for being treated like complete slave, abused and degraded in the most demeaning ways.”

“Like my mom?” I interjected.

“Yes, Layla. Like your mom. And if I haven’t misjudge your sister, I’m pretty sure she heading to this category as well.” she chuckled softly. “Then we have the heavy weight champions of BDSM. They take things very seriously and the injury they suffer are equally serious as their commitment. While dominants like me prefer to keep our subs unscathed, these heavy weight will beg to be hurt physically. A punch to their stomach is like a Christmas present to them. And they like to be injured, sometimes with devices as devious as a meat hook.”

“Like the ones in a butcher shop?” I asked in surprise. That hook was at least half an inch thick.

“Yes. Exactly. These subs like to see their own blood. They are also the most risky subs to handle. If a dominant is inexperienced, he or she is sure to be fooled by these subs apparent comfort despite the fact they are in real danger. I’ve handled a few of these and I hope I never have one assigned to me again. They are the worse subs, they are too self-destructive for their own good. These are the kind of subs that will never complaint about things going wrong. And the dom has to be really observant to make sure the harm they get doesn’t end up having them in a body bag.”

“What about me? What type of subs I would be?” I turned my head around and looked at my aunt.

“I’ve only spent a day with you, Layla. It’s too early to tell but I can assure you that you obviously aren’t one of the heavy weights.” she shook her head. “The fact that you wanted me to stop after only coming twice was a testament to that.” her lips formed into a grin. I turned back and planted my face on the cushion.
“Then there are all sorts of roles that can be used to spice things up.” she went on. “Doctor and patient. Police and thief. Teacher and students. Guard and prisoner. Owner and pet. Sex trafficker and sex slave. I’ve seen many through the years. Too many to list out for you.”

“Do you prefer the roles of owner and pet?” I speculated, since she kept calling me pet throughout my introduction to this perversely delicious art called BDSM.

“Yes, I am. But of course, I can always change my role to suit my client’s need.” she waggled her brows.

“The Wicked Queen.” I laughed.

“Exactly.” she chuckled. “To make things special, doms do specialize in certain style. Sort of like how a chef has his or her own signature dish, a dom has some sort of signature play too.”

“For instance? What’s your signature play.”

“Well, my signature is forcing my sub to have multiple orgasms in a short time. I am also skilled at teasing subs, especially if they are males, denying them of their release for as long as their body can allow. That’s just me. Some prefer to use machine. Some prefer to use electric shocks. Some play with excrement too.”

“They play with shit.” I snapped in horror.

“There are a lot of weird things out there.” my aunt shrugged. “You haven’t even scratched the surface. Some even has kidnapping play where the dom kidnaps the sub, tie the sub in an abandoned building, and use the sub for days.”

“Wow!” I gasped in surprise at the assortment of styles.

“So there you have it. Lessons of the day.” Her hands left my back and when I turned to look, she was walking towards the kitchen. “Come, you must be hungry.”

After the meal, Aunt Mary told me more about the safety of bondage. Although it was relatively easy to tie up a person, as she proudly demonstrated with dental floss on a helpless little baked potato, the difficult part was to tie the ropes just tight enough to immobilize the sub, but not too tight to a point that it caused blood restriction. Paleness of the skin often meant blood restriction and she warned me to ensure that there was no visible white spot when tying someone up. As I listened to her, I wondered how it would feel to be that baked potato right then.

“Knots are really tricky. They need to be easy enough to untangle and it must never tighten itself up when the sub struggle. Some knots do tighten when pulled so you need to be careful. I will teach…” her voice faded, prompting me to look away from the tied potato. When my eyes met hers, I cocked my brows at the exasperated look on her face.

“What?” I asked.

“You weren’t listening.”

“I was.” I retorted.

“No, you were looking at this poor little potato.” she patted the said potato.

“I was looking at the demonstration.”

“You seemed more interested in becoming the demonstration yourself.” she cocked an eye and the corner of her lips formed a lopsided smile.

“No, I did not.” I turned away and before my cheeks flushed to a rosy red, I walked to fridge and pretended to get some water. My aunt came to me and pulled me into an embrace.

“Layla, if you are too embarrass to even admit that you want to try it, you will never become a domme. Or even a sub for that matter.” Aunt Mary muttered into the crook of my neck. “Do you want to try it?”

My stomach turned into goo. My heart began to race. I swallowed back down my embarrassment and finally let out a long sigh. “Yes, Aunt Mary. I would like to try it.”

“Of course you do.” I could feel her smile. “But not tonight, Layla. It’s already late and you have school tomorrow.”

“But I’ve slept the whole afternoon.” I said defiantly. There’s no way I was going to let this chance slip.

“No, Layla. Go upstairs.” she said with finality.

Damn it. Disappointment descended down upon me with a vengeance. And here I was getting all hyped up imagining all sorts of exotic positions I would be trying out tonight.

“You have homework too, haven’t you?” she chuckled and guided me out of the kitchen. “God, your mother is so going to kill me for doing all these stuff with you, and on a weekday too.” she shook her head in disbelief.

“It won’t affect my school work. I promise.” I quickly said, trying to salvage my aunt’s commitment in teaching me the art of BDSM.

“No, Layla. I’ve just realized we’ve overindulged ourselves.” she swatted my ass lightly. “Go up stairs. Do your homework. And then go to bed. You have school tomorrow. We’ll talk about this on the weekends.”

“But…” she stopped me with a finger pressed against my lips.

“If we can hold this off till this weekend, I will bring you to the club to look around and we can visit Laura too.” she offered with a gentle smile.

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

With a smile, I headed upstairs and went into my room. I guessed I would be staying up quite late tonight with two days’ worth of homework still left untouched.

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