I realised it was exactly the halfway point of the summer holidays. I was so content with life. Everything was perfect. My pet was remarkable, in behaviour and spirit and temperament. And in dancing. Good lord could this girl dance! She was a beautiful and elegant creature, and she would already pass my advanced class if the tests were today. Just the thought of the hard work and passion she gave to every moment of it brought a tear to my eye. I doubt more than one high school teacher in ten finds one such student in the entire duration of their career. But she was my pet, and eventually, she would dance only for me. What can I say? I'm selfish.
My perfect little pet arrived right on time. Without even a command, she quickly piled her clothing in a neat stack and stood nude before me. I could actually see her button. It had really swelled up from all the teasing and denial Amelia had experienced over the last two weeks. It was poking out from her hood, and it was not quite pink anymore. More of an angry red. It must have been very difficult for her not to touch it. All that throbbing, that heat, that terrible ache, that she suffered all the time, without reprieve. Delightful.
I approached my pet, fitted her blindfold, and commanded her to assume the pose. Hands behind her head. Feet wide. Body thrust forward. Tiptoes. The pose had occurred to me on a whim, but it just seemed so right for my little girl.
Without any preamble, I slipped in the egg, and set it to random. I began stroking her body. Her skin was unbelievably soft. I ran my hands all over her breasts, tummy and chest. I stroked her body for quite some time, and enjoyed the squeaks and moans that my touches elicited. I loved how wet she got when denied, so wet that it drooled out of her sex, a thick strand of clear fluid she couldn't help but produce, a sign of her sheer desperation.
Finally, I moved my hand into the slippery wetness of her feminine folds. Amelia let out a guttural groan and bucked her hips hard. I began a pattern of movement. Starting at her entrance, I would slowly, so slowly, slide my finger along her slit. Just before I reached her adorably distressed button, I would instead circle it, without touching it, three times, before slowly sliding down her slit to touch her, without entering. And repeat.
It was very much like playing an instrument. When I ran my finger up and down her slit, she would whimper, and when I circled her clit, she would moan. It didn't take long for her pretty face to scrunch up as she began to cry in frustration at the lack of contact where she needed it. It was very cute, and I was enjoying it immensely. I enjoyed her vulnerability, and I wanted to prime her. She was always more fun to be cruel to when she was submissive and yearning for my touch.
"Do you like being under my control, pet?" I asked her, without really stopping to consider that, before now, I had never directly confronted her with the reality of our relationship.
"Y-yes MMM-miss! I love it!" she replied, emphatically, as her hips tried, and failed, to thrust her button forward onto my fingertip. Bad hips.
I waited until I was circling around her stiff little button before asking my next question. While she pondered, I would keep going in those circles.
"Have you ever fantasised about being tied up?"
"Y-y-yes mmmmiss!" She replied, struggling to form words through her moans. She had had to raise her voice to overcome a moan that seemed determined to overwhelm the sentence.
"You're a good pet, Amelia. Such a cute little thing!" I praised her, adopting the same tone one uses to praise a dog.
She smiled adorably at my words, clearly smitten with my positive attention and affection, and seemed to thrive on being treated like a submissive.
"Tell me about your bondage fantasies, Amelia," I commanded, removing my hand from her pussy and putting it to her lips.
Still fighting little moans caused by the egg, she explained, in between licks of my cum-soaked hand, that she often thought of being helpless when she masturbated, and had even tried tying herself once, though it didn't live up to her fantasies.
I worked her hard that day. Dancing for hours with that egg cycling constantly, my messy pet did her very best, and I was proud. After I was satisfied she had only a little energy left, I led her down the steps of the stage and allowed her to fall to her hands and knees by the sofa.
She panted in the darkness of her blindfold. I liked to leave the blindfold on until it was time for her to go home, and it was easy to forget she couldn't see. I wondered if it was just because it was how I liked her, or if the elegance of her dancing conveyed no lost sense of function. I think I was just tuning it out, as you do with the hum of an air conditioner or some other constant sensory input. Besides, why does a submissive need to see? It's a luxury she could do without.
Her molten little cunt had quickly produced a small puddle beneath her. On her knees with her feet apart, I could see that plump little pussy of hers pressing against my floor. I hoped that, with every throb of her needy clit, she could feel the contact it made with the floor. There was something about pets on the floor that was just too cute.
She panted with exertion and arousal, but unluckily for my tiny baby girl, I wasn't done yet. Not by a long shot. She had a rough afternoon ahead of her, and I was going to savour every moment of it. I took her by the hand and she rose to her feet with some effort, and then led my unquestioning pet to her next ordeal.
The room I brought her to I mostly used for storage. The walls were lined with shelves, with a wide variety of stored items, as well as labelled and unlabelled boxes. The room was very neat, organised and clean, with no natural light. I set up a foldable massage table in the centre of the room, the kind that clicks into place when you stretch out the metal support frame.
That black metal frame of steel tubes and pipes supported a thick padded top that provided a great deal of comfort to the person reclining on it. My main interest in it was that there were plenty of anchoring points to connect rope to, which I intended to take full advantage of.
Amelia stood nervously, her hands in fists by her sides, her little feet together, toes digging into the carpeted floor. The poor creature was swaying gently from tiredness and slick with sweat. I took her by the hand and led my blind pet to the centre of the room, and with my hands on her hips, I helped her up onto the table. I had her lie down fully, I folded her arms on her chest, and told her to relax. Then I got to work.
Some items were needed for what I had planned next. First and foremost, a matching set of four firm black leather cuffs that closed over themselves like a belt, allowing tightness suitable for both wrists and ankles of any size. Four D-rings were spaced equally around each cuff, perfect for tying or clipping the cuffs to each other, or other objects.
The inside of the cuff, where contact was made with the skin, was a comfortable felt padding that would not harm circulation, yet when tightened sufficiently would prevent any slippage. I had tested one on my wrist and no amount of struggling, squirming or prying could free me, yet my blood flow was fine and I was perfectly comfortable. My pet could pull at them as much as she pleased. She would not get away.
I took Amelia's left ankle and applied a cuff. She tensed, and though clearly concerned, remained silent, and did not make to get up. My little girl trusted me to keep her safe, and I felt a strong responsibility to live up to that trust. I went to the other side and repeated the process, so that her ankles were adorned with cuffs, though not attached to anything, yet.
I took a length of rope next, tied it to a D-ring on Amelia's left ankle cuff, and then took her leg so that it would hang off the side of the table with her knee bent. I then tied off the rope to a joint on the side of the table. I went around to the other side and repeated the process, and she gasped as her thighs were parted, viscous girl cum stretching in strands between them.
Because of Amelia's small size, and the table's width, she was spread so wide that the muscles in her thighs looked taut. I actually saw her angry little button move as it quivered in need, and I could see her puffy hole was oozing fresh girl cum. My poor little baby!
I gently took her wrists, one at a time, and applied a cuff. Once on, I clipped her wrist cuffs together, pulled them up above her head, and tied the cuffs off to the framework at the head of the bed. She was now quite vulnerable, her legs apart, her aching little cunt completely unprotected, but with her wrists as they were, she could only squirm to resist my invasive touches.
For the first time, she could not simply refuse, run away, or try to physically resist me, not that she ever had. But it was wonderful to know that, this time, even if I pushed her far enough for her to want to break free, she simply couldn't. She was, finally, completely at my mercy. Or lack thereof.
However, I wasn't quite done. I had tied her wrists to the bedframe in such a way that I could pull on a cord in order to pull Amelia's arms toward the head of the bed. Beware the bondage skills of anybody with a utility vehicle. I wanted her beautiful body to be taut, so I tugged gently on the rope, earning whimpers and a nervous "miss?" for my troubles. I kept going until I was confident she could not squirm whatsoever, except for those hips. Those curvy hips. She could thrust them up off the table, just a little bit, and I liked it that way. Now, it was playtime.
She knew she was helpless. She was whimpering more and more. I slipped a finger into my pet and earned myself a squeak, and with some effort on my part, and with much moaning from Amelia, I was able to pry the egg out of her sloppy pussy. I replaced it immediately with another, fully charged and ready to go. She moaned loudly, much louder than I had expected as a reaction. It stood to reason though that she had never felt this vulnerable before, despite her self-bondage efforts. For such a submissive pet it must have greatly heightened her sensitivity. I could do whatever I pleased to her and she was helpless to stop me. I told her as much.
"Y-yes miss," she whispered fearfully.
I once again placed a finger on her button, and began to make circles. Her moan was guttural and filled with longing. The poor girl. Until now it was purely her obedience and submission that kept her under my thumb. Well, middle finger, presently. But now she was truly helpless. She tried to squirm in her bonds as I made my circles, but there was very little give. Her head moved from side to side, and her hips bucked pitifully with urgent need as she helplessly experienced a hard edge. Her face scrunched up, as she began to cry.
