Mollys Date Night

Author's Note:

Mistress Pepper and Sophie are "anonymized" versions of me and my slave-girl. The real me. All of my stories are (or should I say will be) my memories of a session with a sub. Thus, they are true stories. Only in this version details have been changed to protect the sub. I do live in Mobile about 10 months of the year (the remaining two I spend in Nizhny Novgorod, Russia, where my father is from and lives), and almost all of my subs live in Mobile or a bordering county. I'm originally from Baldwin County, next door to Mobile. I moved across the bay to attend USA. As is/did Mistress Pepper. But I'm not a blond. And you'll most definitely have to guess at my bra size!

And remember, the names and such have been changed in this version to protect the slutty. Only Princess Lilly appears as herself. But she truly has no concept of shame.

*****

Session Date:

08 May, 2020

This Story Released:

23 November, 2020

Molly's Date Night

Prologue:

In case this is the first of my stories you've read, there are a few things I've skipped over in this story since there are several other stories I've written about this same sub. I tend to write a story after almost all of my sessions with my toys. But I publish very few of them online.

My name is Pepper Rodgers. I'm a 19-year-old Domme, living downtown Mobile, Alabama. I have a decently well-stocked playroom in the second bedroom of my fourth-floor apartment (most of my neighbors are corporate types who aren't always around, giving me a lot of privacy, even in the halls and elevators). I also have a decently stocked toybox. I prefer my toys to be older than I am, around 30-42 years old. I prefer men for myself, however not for my toybox. When it comes to toys, I find women and couples to be far more amusing. Single men tend to be needier, and often too clingy. But that doesn't mean I don't have a few of them in my toybox. I do. They just don't have the same chances of getting there as couples and single women do.

I'm petite. Actually more "tiny" that petite. I'm 5' 1.75" and 91 pounds. I'm not bony, though, I've curvy, like a small-sized woman. I have blond hair down to my shoulders and blue eyes. Oh, and my chest is the only place I'm not small. I'm a 32-D, and I'm very pert. Which makes me popular with the boys.

I'm also slightly bisexual. I'm attracted to men, not women. I would never choose a female partner for even a date, let alone for sex. But I'm not opposed to masturbating with a female toy. Sophie happens to be my favorite sex toy to pleasure myself with. Her tongue has two big advantages over my vibrator: one, it's very delicate and tender. Two, no matter how much I use it, its batteries never die at the worst possible moment! It's better than fresh bunny batteries, it just keeps going until I want it to stop. And I don't even have to hold it in place!

When I want sex I never use one of my toys. I never allow a toy touch, or even see, all of me. And I never bring a toy to my bedroom. Nor do I chose a woman. I pick a man, usually one I find in a club or cafe, or wherever. I flirt, dance dirty a little and if he meets my standards, I ask if he's interested in a one-time-only, no-names-exchanged, hook-up. I've never been turned down.

I have a few standards for my hook-ups. I never pick a guy I know or even just see around. And I insist on a cock between 7 and 9" long and 1.5" across, plus or minus a small bit. I won't touch a guy who isn't circumcised, either. I hate the way the foreskin feels inside me. I want to feel that fat head. The dirty dancing gives me plenty of time to tease a guy hard and feel for myself what he's got. It's the only way not to be disappointed. Guys always lie about their equipment!

Sophie is my 19-year-old live-in slave-girl. She's slightly petite at 5'4" and 119 pounds. She's pretty, too, with long honey-blond hair, green eyes, and a 34-B chest. Sophie is extremely devoted to me. So devoted, and so happy as my slave, that despite not being attracted to women, she's a virgin with men. She serves and pleasures only me, and those I give her to. And while I use her, even with my male toys, I won't allow any man to touch her pussy or penetrate her bottom. Those are mine. Only mine. I've owned her since she graduated high school, but I've known her longer. Since about two months after her 18th birthday, which was also about two months before she finished high school.

I have three BFFs, (Isabelle, Reagan, and Ellie) none of whom are into my little games. But all of whom occasionally creep into my stories. After all, they are my BFFs so they tend to be around. Luckily they're not offended by anything they happen to see. They're just not eager for me to put on a show on their account.

I also have a circle of five other women friends, all of whom are Dommes as well. Andrea (26), Janelle (35), Colette (39), Diane (43), and Olive (44). we usually get together every couple of weeks for coffee and a little chat about who's doing what to whom lately. We sometimes share, or loan, our toys to each other, but not that often. Sometimes we do a favor for each other, such as providing something different for a toy. Mostly we do what girls do: we gossip.

I get all of my toys through networking. It's almost always either one of the women in our circle who has a toy she doesn't want and offers to point it at another who is interested. Or sometimes one of my toys tells someone, who tells someone, and so on until someone asks my toy to introduce someone to me. Rarely it's someone I don't play with, but who knows what I'm into, who asks me to meet someone. I get plenty of emails inquiring about meeting me, and while I will email and maybe chat with a sub online, I haven't yet met any. I won't rule it out, but meeting online is risky enough that someone would have to convince me before I'd think about it. A girl's gotta be careful!

Chapter 01: The Naughty Girl

Tonight is a favor to my Dom friend Nikolai and his quasi-girlfriend, and Domme, Dianne. He'd called me about a week ago with the story, and it was a long story. I'm not even sure I remember all of the friend-of-who's involved in it. I think there's a full six degrees of separation between Nikolai and the girl he was calling about. But Nikolai is a pretty good friend of mine. And us Russians do have to stick together! Honestly, I would do this much for any of my Dom/me friends if they asked. It's nothing to meet with a new, prospective toy.

The toy in question is a barely-eighteen-year-old girl named Molly. I haven't had the chance to talk to her yet. I have spoken with her mother, Renee. She's the one who called me. She's the one who told me the story for the second time, this time with more detail.

Molly has always been a slightly bratty girl, according to Renee. Actually, it's more like she's two girls. Sassy and obstinate with her parents, but eager to please with her friends. The kind of girl who is strong-willed and bossy at home. The kind of girl who is a follower and goes along with whatever when she's with her friends. None of which is exactly atypical of a teenager.

According to Renee, the "problem" started about six weeks ago when Molly started seeing a boy named Nate. He is, in Renee's words, a "complete loser and likely future felon." Then, a week or so later, Renee overheard Molly talking with one of her friends. To Renee, Molly sounded exactly like Mandy, a friend of Renee's who is a sub, and rather open about it. Renee overheard Molly saying things like how she didn't care what she had to do. She'd do anything if it would make Nate smile. That's all Molly wanted, to make Nate happy. Unfortunately, Nate is exactly the kind of boy who would take advantage of that. The kind of boy who would monetize Molly while keeping an actual girlfriend on the side that he actually liked. At least according to Renee.

Talking to Molly herself would be futile, and Renee knows it. Molly would do the opposite of whatever Renee wanted just to prove to Renee she could. So after talking with Mandy, and Mandy's owner, someone came up with the bright idea of introducing Molly to a Dom/me. Nikolai came up with the bright idea of that being me. He figured since I'm only a few years older than Molly, that she might listen to me better than a middle-aged Dom/me.

I agreed to talk to Molly. That's all I've agreed to do, too. I could talk to Renee until doomsday and I'll never get an accurate picture of Molly. I'll get a picture of Molly as Renee sees her, not as Molly sees herself. And the latter is the only one that matters.

This afternoon I'd gotten a panicked call from Renee. She told me that Molly was planning to go out with Nate again, tonight. He was going to pick her up around six. Molly doesn't know where he's taking her, or if she does, she's unwilling to say. Either way, it's not going to be someplace Renee would approve of. If it were, Molly would say. She won't say. When she called me, Renee was in tears. It was the usual parent's line of "I just don't know what to do with her!"

I told Renee that I would be there at five to talk to Molly. What I couldn't promise her is that Molly would hear a word I had to say. She is, after all, eighteen now. And that's something she's not the least bit shy about reminding Renee of. So typical!

Renee is the one who meets me at the door. Molly is nowhere to be seen. I've brought Sophie, my 19-year-old live-in slave-girl with me. She's my personal handmaiden. I take her everywhere. And it's obvious to the world that Sophie is my slave.

Sophie is a somewhat petite girl. She's 5'4" and 118 pounds. She has long, curly, honey-blond hair and green eyes. She has perky B-cup breasts that I like to flaunt. And I know Sophie likes it when I flaunt them, and, or, the rest of her body. I've left her dressed in what I call her slave-girl uniform. It's an all-lace stretchy-dress that tightly hugs her body from those pert breasts down to maybe an inch beneath the bottom curve of her behind. Today's dress is pastel pink with frilly white lace trim. She has matching lace fingerless gloves. She also wears knee-high boots with four-inch heels and sides made of stiff lace instead of leather. And a plush fabric horseshoe clip to hold her long hair back. It's all in the same shade of pink. But what truly marks Sophie as my slave is the pastel-green, white-lace-fringed, soft leather collar locked around her neck with a shiny brass padlock. And the dog tag hanging from it announces that she's my property and offers a reward if she's found astray. And now, the matching green leash that's clipped to Sophie's collar.

Renee just stares at Sophie for a quick moment. She immediately recognizes Sophie for the slave she is. She politely invites us in. She babbles on, telling me that Molly is locked in her room getting ready for her date. That Molly might, probably, won't be happy about being interrupted. She shows us the way back to their living room and points me to Molly's closed bedroom door. I catch sight of her husband, Molly's father, sitting on the sofa and pretending to watch TV while he really watches me and eyes Sophie over. I can't blame him for that. Sophie has some rather lithe and attractive legs. With thighs that are now bare on display. Too bad he's too far away to really check Sophie out. The lace of her dress doesn't really hide much. It would just make him look a little harder to see through it. Then he'd notice what Renee undoubtedly already has. That Sophie doesn't have a bra or panties on under it. He'd probably notice that her pubes are smoothly shaven, too. And that her pussy mound is rather puffy. I can make it out nicely through that dress. And Sophie knows it.

Sophie is carrying a rather large duffle bag that I keep a selection of toys in. It's the bag I keep ready for when I visit toys somewhere besides my playroom. She's also carrying my favorite crop. It's pastel-green with delicate white lace trim. It was my first crop. It was a present from my mom when I turned eighteen. She knew just what I wanted! Sophie hands me the crop.

I tell Renee to wait on the sofa with her husband while I go "introduce myself" to Molly. I hope I've made it clear to her that I do not want them to interrupt, no matter what they hear. Because Molly won't have any idea who I am or why I'm invading her bedroom. She's going to object! I don't usually tolerate objections. Molly will get one. But only one.

Bedroom door locks are far from secure. Most of them are easily opened from the outside. Molly's isn't any different. It has a little pinhole in it. I just have to poke a paperclip into the hole and press on a little spring-loaded tab. That's all it takes to release the lock. And it's exactly what I do. Do quietly. Then, holding that tab down, I turn the handle. I shove the door open quickly and leave it open as I step in.

"What the fuck!" Molly blurts out as she hears her door open. She snaps around, ready to screech at her mom. She sees me and blurts "who the fuck are you? Get out!"

I stand there and stare hard at Molly for a second. Molly screeches even louder for me to "get the fuck out!" Only now, I can see her face as she screeches at me. Her face is a mask of anger. But under that mask, there's a nervousness. Not just the fear of being broken in on, but also the uneasiness of not knowing what to do about it. I take a step forward, towards Molly, without a word. The mask starts to crumble a little more, showing more of that nervousness beneath it. Her eyes lock on me. It doesn't take them long to see the whip in my hand. Her eyes lock on that, watching it closely. And very warily.

"You are going to listen to me, Molly," I tell her in a very firm, but not loud, voice. "I am not asking. You will listen. You may either sit on the foot of that bed and listen like a good girl, or you may wait until after I've spanked you and sit on the foot of that bed with a sore bottom. That is the only choice you have. Now, sit." I stare at her hard.

"MOM!" Molly calls out loudly. "DAD!"

"They're not coming. They've left you to me. I won't repeat myself again. I said sit. Now sit." I say sternly, glaring at Molly. I gave her this one objection. But now, if she's decently intelligent, she should have figured out that her parents truly have left her to me. And thus, they know who I am and why I'm here. And approve. Otherwise, her panicked squeal would have brought her dad running with some weapon in his hand. At least I hope it would have. It was that "come save me" kind of squeal.

Molly glares at me for a second, her face more nervous than angry now. She starts moving very slowly, her choice made. She sits on the foot of her bed. But she never takes her eyes off of me. Or my whip.

I do nothing for a few seconds. Molly watches me carefully. But after a few seconds, she sees that she has a few seconds. Her eyes take that chance to dart around the room. That's when she catches her first sight of Sophie. Still on her leash and smiling wide. Molly's eyes dart back to me, but they can't stay there. They keep flashing over to eye Sophie. The nervous look on Molly's face deepens. But now I see a little twinkle in her eye, too. Especially when she's looking at Sophie.

I step close to Molly, invading her space, without touching her. I already know that Molly has no idea what discipline is. Her parents have been far from stern. And I just know that Nate the kind of boy who knows only one trick, do what I want you to, or I'll dump you. I hate that! It is the epitome of amateurish!

"Obviously you've never been taught any manners!" I snap at Molly. I use the tip of my crop to very softly tap Molly's knee. "Ladies sit with their legs crossed."

Molly almost jumps at the light tap of the crop. Her eyes pop wide. She immediately crosses her legs as I tell her to.

I tap her back, just as softly, with the crop and tell her to sit up straight. This time she more flinches than jumps. She also straightens up rather quickly. I tap her hands and firmly tell her to put them in her lap. She does. I tell her to focus on me. To give me her attention. And only me. Nothing else concerns her.

She called out loudly for her parents. There should be no question that they heard her. And by now there should be no question that they're not coming to save her. She's on her own with me. She looks at me, but I can see her eyes darting over to Sophie every second or so.

"I am Miss Rodgers," I tell Molly in a very soft, slightly sweet voice. I even smile slightly. "This is what you need to know. This house and all those in it now belong to me. Since you live here, that means I own you, too."

Molly looks shocked. Slightly horrified, too. But she still pays attention to me, listening and watching me with a trace of interest on her face. I wondered if she might run away, or scream for help. She does neither.

"Are you a virgin, Molly?"

Molly blushes just slightly. I'm pretty sure it's not the question she expected me to ask first. Or at all. She hesitates for a second. Then she sputters, "yes..."

"You rude bitch!" I snap sternly. I still haven't raised my voice to her. "In my realm, bitches are polite to their betters. For you, betters mean every sentient life form. When you speak to me, you speak very humbly and politely. Now try again. Show me that you're smart enough to spare your bottom a spanking." I hold the whip up in front of her eyes.

Molly trembles slightly. "Yes, Ma'am..." She answers with a note of question in her voice. As if she's asking me if that's polite enough for me.

"Much better," I tell her. "I don't know who this Nate boy is, but I can already tell I don't like him. You will not see him or even speak to him again. I am not asking. I don't ask anything. I tell. I am telling you what you are going to do. You do not get a say in it. You obey. You do not even get to ask questions, such as why. The answer is because I said so. I own you, so that's all that you need to know. Your only choice is how sore your bottom will be when finally accept that you are not going to see him again. And that begins now, this second. Your date tonight is hereby canceled. Do you understand that, bitch?" I stare right into Molly's eyes.

Molly's eyes moisten, but she doesn't cry. She sits. After a couple of seconds, her eyes drift down until she's looking at her knees. "Yes, Ma'am..." Molly answers reluctantly, but not too unhappily. It's a tone that makes me wonder if she was really into Nate, or if he was just able to pull her strings. That doesn't seem to be hard to do. I've known her less than five minutes and I'm pulling them efficiently.

"It's obvious that you've never been owned before. I will make it simple for you. I am your Queen. I own you. I own your body. I even own that pussy between your legs. You are nothing. Nothing at all. You do not matter. No one cares what you want or what you like. No one cares if you hate something. Or if it hurts. I care only that you obey your Queen. That you show me the proper deference, humility, and respect that I deserve. I will do whatever I wish with you. With your body. I won't even ask what you want. I will tell you what you will do. You will do. Isn't that simple? Disobey me, act like a sassy bitch, or pretty much anything other than obeying politely, and there will be unpleasant consequences. Queens are not known for tolerance. Queens are known for tossing disobedient peasants into their dungeons to suffer. I have plenty of peasants. You have only one bottom. Do you understand your place in the world now, bitch?"

"Yes, Ma'am..." Molly goes with the safe answer. The one that let her avoid a spanking last time.

"Were you planning to go out on a date dressed like that?" I ask with a heavy note of disapproval in my voice.

"Yes, Ma'am... Nate likes it..."